Saddle Up!
by thecouchcarrot
Summary: Slight AU, Human!Cas. Dean/Cas, Sam/OFC. Dean and Cas decide to get Sam back on the dating horse. Well, Dean decides; Cas humors him. Does Sam have any say in the matter? Of course not! Now Complete. Ch.12: Because 67impala demanded it - more boy necking.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _Like I said in the summary, this story contains Dean/Cas, Sam/OFCs, Human!Cas. Slight AU: Basically AU from just before the finale on. In this universe, the apocalypse has been successfully ended, and everybody survived it. Cas never got 'sploded, so he's still human, and Sam is totally fine. Dean and Cas are not a thing yet, but. Well. Everybody knows but them. Especially Sam. _

_I wrote this story in response to the request of LOSTrocker, who pointed out that really, Sam deserves some lovin'. After the way the finale went down, I wholeheartedly agree. We can't let Dean and Cas have all the fun, can we? Okay, we _could_, but it's not really fair. They're fun hogs. _

_Finally, please review. It's like, not even joking, straight-up heroin to me. Please feed my terrible, terrible addiction._

* * *

It started on a Saturday night. Two Winchesters and a former angel were crammed together in the back seat of a cab, on their way back from a bar. Dean was very drunk and had decided it was too far to walk; Sam was just drunk enough that it didn't occur to him that walking back would be much more pleasant, and a cab had sounded pretty good. Cas was smashed.

At the moment they were all shoved waaay too close together, practically sitting on each other's laps. If you don't know why Sam was beginning to regret his decision, let's just say that sitting knee to knee with his drunk brother while said brother groped another intoxicated man was not his idea of a night on the town.

The bar had been crowded, loud, and smoky – the three things Sam hated most about bars. Dean was always in favor of noisy and packed because it meant he could get rip-roaring drunk and bellow along to the jukebox, which he insisted was an important component of Cas's musical education. And, okay, so maybe all _three_ of them had been shouting along to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" at the top of their lungs, but Dean had been the one flailing on his air guitar (Sam's accompaniment on air drums was hardly worth mentioning. Cas didn't know how to play instruments, so Dean had put him on air microphone). And after the song was over, and they all panted and grinned at each other, Dean and Cas had started _really _looking at each other and breathing _really_ hard and Sam had suddenly remembered why it was that he hated crowded, sweaty bars.

In case you're wondering, no, the two blockheads hadn't come to terms with their feelings yet. Sam figured it was only a matter of time before they woke up and smelled the manlove, but really. Watching the epic struggle between stubborn denial and unresolved sexual tension unfold was irritating and pretty gross. Half the time he was praying somebody, _anybody_ would make a move, and half the time he was praying they'd keep their heads in the sand for at least the next five minutes. When they finally put two and two together, Sam really didn't want to be anywhere in the near vicinity, and now this bar seemed to be the vicinity. Dean was handsy when he was drunk. Cas was suggestible when he was drunk. They were staring at each other like they were the last two orchestra members on the Titanic, and their options were kiss or drown.

Not. Good.

So yeah, getting out of that bar as quickly as possible had _seemed_ like a good idea at the time. But now they were packed like sardines in this stupid _taxi,_ and Dean was trying out the latest party trick he'd taught Cas.

"_I-I-I. Wanna rock and roll all nii-i-ight_," Dean crooned off-key.

"_And party every day_," Cas sang automatically, right on cue, like some kind of unconscious reflex.

Dean chuckled. "Man, that's never gonna get old."

"If by 'never' you mean 'in about five minutes,'" Sam muttered to himself, trying to cram himself further into the door.

Dean didn't hear him, however. He was too busy clumsily pawing at Cas and nuzzling at his neck, mumbling, "_You show us everything you got, and baby baby that's quite a lot…_"

Cas snorted and chided, "Deaaaan. Tickling."

Dean just chuckled and grinned up at him lasciviously. "_You drive us wiiild, we'll drive you craaaazay._"

"Deeaan," Cas repeated a little softer, a little needier.

Sam gritted his teeth. _Please don't_, he mentally begged. _For the love of God, please don't take this to the next level. _

Dean lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, about the quietest he got when he was drunk. "_You keep on shouting, you keep on shouting._"

And suddenly he launched himself forward and straddled Cas's lap, pumping his fist in the air and belting out, "_I! WANNA ROCK AND ROLL ALL NI-I-IGHT!_"

"_And party every day!_"

Sam groaned and rubbed his temple. It was going to be a long ride.

…..

So it started on a Saturday night. But it really started the next morning, when Dean woke up to the moans of a hungover Cas, the sound distorted through the porcelain of the toilet bowl. Sam's bed was empty and already made – the anal retentive little bitch (and Dean meant that in the most affectionate way). Something clicked in his brain and he realized – Sam. Sam was _not_ happy last night. Well, at the beginning he was happy. But at the end… things shouldn't have played out like that. But they kept on happening that way.

It had kind of become a pattern. The three of them would go out to a bar, and they'd all come back together. Dean had a good reason; he was trying to teach Cas about bar culture and the art of picking up women. It was a work in progress, and once Cas was a little more... suave, they were gonna pick up truckloads of chicks together. It just wouldn't be right for the teacher to snag some foxy lady and leave his awkward student to fend for himself and possibly get slapped. But Sam… Sam had no excuse for coming back alone. And it was becoming increasingly apparent that he resented being the habitual third wheel; it was harder and harder to drag him out for drinks, and it took longer and longer to convince him to stay.

Dean sighed. He'd never admit it to Sam's face, but his brother was an attractive man. Just because Dean wasn't throwing girls in his direction like he had before he started working on Cas didn't mean that those girls weren't throwing themselves. He hadn't realized until now exactly how little action Sam had seen since the apocalypse. Considering that the last girl the poor guy trusted turned out to be a backstabbing manipulative bitch (though Dean could have told him that), and he'd found out that he and his one (dead) true love were a match made by a demon, it was understandable that he was a little gun-shy. And now that Dean thought about it, an alarming number of Sam's flings had – ended badly, to put it mildly. Let's see: Jessica? Dead. Meg? Demon, tried to kill him, also dead. Sarah? Alive and human… probably. No way to know for sure. Madison? Werewolf, dead by Sam's own hand. Then they'd both kinda had a hate-thing for Bela, so he wasn't sure if that counted, but she was also dead. And then Ruby; Dean shuddered. It was like Sam was cursed – or at least, _he_ probably thought he was.

And Sam's age-old excuse for his celibacy, that he preferred to have "actual _relationships" _and shit? It was now null and void. The apocalypse was over. They could stay wherever the hell they wanted, 'til _when_ever the hell they wanted. If there was some goddamn life-threatening emergency, he and Cas could even potentially leave Sam (_temporarily_, mind you, none of this let-us-go-our-separate-ways crap), because leaving Sam in the tender lovin' care of some stacked babe was not the same as leaving him to fend for himself. It was the perfect time for Sam to start something.

Therefore, it was clear what Dean and Cas had to do. They had to get Sam back on the dating horse. They had to restore his faith in the healing powers of a roll in the hay. They had to show him that it was possible to have a little fun without horrible cosmic retribution. They had to make Sam remember why it was so awesome to be a young, ripped dude. They had to do it – _for Sam_.

"Cas," Dean announced, "We are going to get Sam laid."

Cas just retched.

* * *

**[EDIT]** A/N: _Augh, I timed this really poorly. I'm going to be a camp counselor for a week, so, if you're reading this: Sorry. It's gonna be a week before a new chapter goes up but _don't panic_, it _is_ coming. If you want to get a head start on the game, listen to the songs "City" and "Gravity" by Sarah Bareilles on the youtubes or whatnot - both will be mentioned in upcoming chapters, and it'll be handy if you already know what they sound like! Thanks for your patience. _


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:_ My wonderful awesome readers! Thank you for the reviews, I really enjoyed them. Was it good for you too? Want a cigarette? Let's get together tonight and go for round two. _

_As I mentioned in the edit to Ch. 1, sorry the update is so late - I was a camp counselor for a week and I was in the middle of the woods! Without even cell reception! And only occasional access to plumbing! It was _traumatizing_. (Also super fun, but let's ignore that part for now. PITY ME.) I wrote the first part of this chapter a week before the second part, so hopefully it all coheres well. I reread it a couple times and it seemed fine, but I'm also kind of trying to rush this to you guys because I feel _so terrible_ for making you wait a week. Let me know how it reads.  
_

_Also like I mentioned in the edit, I HIGHLY recommend that you look up and listen to Sarah Bareilles's songs "City" (which is used in this chapter) and "Gravity" (which will be used in an upcoming chapter). It will greatly enhance your reading experience if you know what these songs sound like; I recommend the youtubes. The character who sings them is supposed to sound exactly like Sarah Bareilles, just so you know._

_That is all. Please, please, PLEASE review. Like I said, I have a terrible addiction. I'm getting the shakes, and I'm jonesin' real bad. Please review before the hallucinations start. _

* * *

The next weekend, Sam was starting to suspect that something was up.

He first noticed it when they decided to go out for drinks. They'd just rolled into a new city, and it was something like an actual _city_ this time. That had never stopped Dean from sniffing out the dingiest, most redneck dive of a tavern in a 100 mile radius in the past, so Sam was surprised when they came to a mildly classy establishment and Dean said, "There." When Sam reminded him that they probably wouldn't have a jukebox from which to blast AC/DC, put Dean just punched him and told Sam to stop being such a passive aggressive girl.

Inside, the place turned out to be seriously not bad. There were plenty of (relatively clean!) tables, a dance area, and a stage where a woman was setting up a keyboard. Billy Joel filtered down from the stereo system, and there was just enough chatter from the customers to feel like the bar was in business without being deafening.

"See, doesn't this place seem nice?" Dean asked encouragingly.

"Yeah," Sam answered in surprise. "It does."

"And just check out the merchandise," Dean continued, waggling his eyebrows and grinning lewdly. "Welcome to California, home of the Governator and the nation's most beautiful women. God, I love this state."

And _then_ it made sense. Dean was trying to get some action with a higher echelon of babe. Well, for once Sam didn't mind; this time, Dean's horniness would work in his favor. But something weighed heavily in his stomach and he couldn't help but glance at Cas.

The former angel was unreadable, as usual. Somehow Sam had expected him to blanch or grimace, but that was dumb. It wasn't like Dean didn't leer at every mildly attractive truckstop waitress and gas station cashier they ran into. Cas had to be expecting it by now.

The three of them got a table in the back and started working on a few tall glasses of beer. Dean scoped out the women in the bar and pointed out the hot ones to Cas while Sam tapped his foot to the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

"Now, see, the blonde there?" Dean indicated with an upward jerk of his chin. "She's skinny, but she's still got curves, and she's getting close to finishing her drink. The perfect time to move in."

"She appears to be taken," Cas remarked, referring to the man seated to her left at the bar.

"Nah, she's not interested in him," Dean assured. "Look at how her body's pointed away from him." Then, with a hasty glance at Sam, he mentioned casually, "I think I'll go over and invite her back to our table for a drink."

Sam expected Cas to ask why Dean couldn't just approach her at the bar and buy her a drink there, since he'd instructed Cas to do as much before. Instead, Cas nodded sagely and very obviously avoided looking at Sam.

_Weird_. Sam mentally shrugged and took a long pull of his beer. Whatever. Dean was clearly scheming, which meant Sam would figure it out sooner or later.

Dean got up and walked over to the blonde, his typical swagger slightly restrained. He struck up conversation and she let him buy her a drink. The music on the speakers turned off and the woman on the stage began playing on the keyboard, jazzy lounge-type stuff, and Sam half-listened, watching the blonde at the bar glance back at their table and bite her lip hesitantly. She was a smart one, then – smart enough to be wary of joining a table of strange men without a friend at her side. But then she got down off of the bar stool (smooth and leggy and graceful, and Sam couldn't help but admire those long, tan legs) and followed Dean as he carried her drink back to the table.

"Guys, this is Kelsey," he introduced her. "Kelsey, this is my friend, Cas, and my brother, Sam." And he pulled up a chair between him and Sam.

Kelsey sat down, flicking her blond curls out of her eyes. Sam smiled at her. "Nice to meet you."

To his surprise, Kelsey smiled coyly and leaned forward. "But we've hardly even met." He didn't miss her eyes scanning up and down him. "Don't tell me you've already got me all figured out."

Sam looked back at Dean, expecting a pointed glare and a mouthed "GET LOST." Instead, Dean was wearing a little smile, and he jumped his eyebrows as if to say, "Not bad, huh?"

And _that's_ when Sam got it.

He grinned back at Kelsey and forced out a chuckle. "I don't have you figured, Kelsey. Something tells me you're the kind of girl who defies expectations." His mind was racing at a mile a minute. What had Dean told her – that he had six months to live? Or that he'd saved a busload of orphans from Russian terrorists? Or maybe that he was some kind of talent scout or agent?

She palmed his knee under the table. "Funny, you don't seem shy at all," she teased.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief. Oh. Dean just said something along the lines of "My kid brother over there is real shy, but he thinks you're really cute and…" Sam could work with that. Of course, he wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to work with that. Sure, she was hot. Waaay hot. But frankly, she seemed easy, and that just turned Sam off.

So he kept things neutral. "My brother has a tendency to exaggerate," he told her. "So, what brings you here tonight?"

Luckily, that launched Kelsey off on an epic saga about a friend who was supposed to meet her for drinks but had last minute drama with her boyfriend who was a total controlling douchebag anyways blah blah blah blah blah… Meanwhile, the woman on the piano started singing a slow, quiet song that was slightly more interesting than Kelsey's inane story.

"_There's a harvest, each Saturday night_," she sang, "_at the bars filled with perfume and hitching a ride. A place you can stand for one night… and get gone…_" Her voice was pretty, running through the melody low and husky. Sam had never heard the song before. Maybe she'd written it.

"And then she was like, 'You don't understand because you're not a part of our relationship,'" Kelsey blathered on. "And I'm like, Emily. I don't have to be in your relationship to see that a guy who cheats on you not once, but _twice_, is not worth your time. I don't _care_ if his grandmother is dying! My grandpa died last year, and you don't see _me_ crying on my ex's shoulder!"

"_It's clear this conversation ain't doin' a thing, cuz these boys only listen to me when I si-i-ing…_"

Suddenly the woman on stage had Sam's full attention.

"_And I don't feel like singing tonight… all the same songs…_" She had chin-length dark hair that was held out of her eyes by a blue barrette, and the fingernails on the piano keys were painted a brilliant lime green that Sam could see from the back of the room. "_Here in these. Deep city liiiiiiiiiights_," she sang, clear and ringing through the speakers. "_Girl could get looooo-o-ost tonight. I'm findin' every reason to be gone, there's nothing here to hold on to… Could I hold you?_" Her voice was incredible, throbbing with emotion, the ache of loneliness sharp and audible.

"So that's why I'm here alone," Kelsey concluded.

"Do you know who that woman on the piano is?" Sam asked. He knew he was being a little rude, but he was certain now that things were going nowhere with Kelsey.

She and Dean frowned in unison. "Uh, I don't remember her name," Kelsey responded in confusion. "She plays here all the time. Jenny Something, I think?"

"She's really good." She was continuing the rest of the song, and it was still fantastic. Sam wasn't sure what it was, but the way she sang just… got to him, somehow.

"Yeah, I guess." Kelsey pulled her phone out of her purse, and then made a face of fake surprise. "Oh, look! Emily just texted me. I really should go. Thanks for the drink!" And she stood up and glided out of the bar, taking those beautiful long legs with her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean demanded, slamming his fist on the table. "Am I hallucinating, Sammy, or did you just brush off that incredibly hot chick because you _like the song that's playing_?"

It was Sam's turn to frown in confusion. "Dude. What is your problem? I brushed her off because she's _boring_. Why the hell do you care?"

Dean just growled in frustration and stood up. "I'm going to take a piss," he muttered, storming away.

The woman – Jenny? – had finished her song, and now she was singing and playing some Rascal Flatts song, but it wasn't the same. It didn't have that depth of feeling behind it.

Sam turned to Castiel, who was sitting silently across the table. "What's going on, Cas?" he asked sharply. "Why was Dean throwing that girl at me?"

Castiel looked at the ceiling. "I don't know," he answered in a strained voice.

Irritated as he was, Sam nearly chuckled at Cas's attempt. "You're still really bad at lying," he told him. "Seriously, Cas. Tell me."

Cas sighed and met Sam's eyes. "Dean is trying to get you a woman friend."

Sam tightened his lips and exhaled heavily through his nose. He'd gotten that much already. "_Why?_"

Cas cocked his head ever so slightly, his blue eyes piercing and focused. "Why do you think, Sam? He's afraid that you're lonely. Dean looks out for you, and he likes taking care of you. He doesn't get to do that very often, anymore." He clasped his hands. "You and I both know that you're fully capable of finding a sexual partner on your own."

Hearing that sentence out of Cas's mouth was beyond bizarre.

"And Dean knows it too. But he likes to think that he's needed, that he's helping you." Cas stared, his face blank but somehow authoritative. "Let him have this. Play along. He's only doing it because he cares about you." Cas said it with such grave matter-of-factness, but the whole conversation… it was like he was trying to coerce Sam, to shelter Dean from the truth. To protect Dean from the knowledge that his brother really didn't need help picking up chicks.

In that moment, Sam felt a strange sympathy for Castiel. He hesitated, and then spoke gently. "He cares about you too, you know."

Castiel looked down at his hands and was silent for a moment. "I know what you're implying, Sam," he said quietly. "Dean and I are friends, nothing more."

"Do you want it to be more?" Sam inquired. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation, but damn. It needed to be had.

Castiel took even longer to respond. Finally he answered, "I am satisfied with what we have."

"But don't you _see?_" Sam pressed, exasperated. "You don't have to be! All Dean needs is a little push and you could have so much more –"

"Or I could _lose everything_," Cas interrupted harshly, leaning forward, face dark and voice hard. "Where would I go, Sam? I have no other friends, no money, and only a cursory knowledge of the highway system. If I ruin things with Dean, I will have _nothing. Left._"

It was Sam's turn to look down, to feel uncomfortable. He looked back up into Cas's eyes, unwilling to be cowed. "Dean wouldn't make you leave." And it was true. Dean wouldn't.

"He wouldn't make me," Castiel admitted. "But he'd wish it." And Sam could see in his eyes that that fate was worse than anything else Cas could imagine.

Dean returned to the table then, plunking himself down into his chair. "Alright, Sam. If you're so damn hot for the chick on stage, at least tell me you're gonna get her number."

Castiel shot Sam a significant look.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure, Dean. I couldn't be asking about her because she's a great musician. She's a woman, therefore I must want to get in her pants."

Dean grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's my boy. Now go get 'em, tiger."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: _Thank you_ so much_ to everyone who reviewed. You're all basically my new best friends, if my I only knew my best friends by their usernames. I got a pretty sweet hit off of you guys, but this is the terrible thing about addiction: it's never enough. And with reviews, guys, the crash after the high? It's pretty bad. So please review again; I'm really strung out, man._

_No songs in this chapter, but again, "Gravity" will definitely be used at some point in the future, so you might want to give it a listen. I made a plea to anyone who understands the Youtubes and editing and posting videos thereupon in one of my previous fics, and I will repeat it: If you could make a Dean/Cas video to Seismonic's "F.N.T." (which stands for Fascinating New Thing). I first heard it on the _10 Things I Hate About You_ soundtrack. As I mentioned before, it's basically the ultimate Dean/Cas song from Cas's POV, and it's all the more awesome because it's rock and Dean wouldn't be completely embarrassed to be mentioned in the same sentence it. _"I'm surprised that you've never been told before/ that you're lovely/ and you're perfect/ and that somebody wants you. I'm surprised that you've never been told before/ that you're priceless/ yeah you're precious/ even when you are not new... Fascinating new thing..." _I would make this video myself, except I have no idea how. I know one of you must have the skillz. If you make this video and send me the link, I will be forever grateful._

_And now, on with the show!_

* * *

The woman at the keyboard possibly known as Jenny was admittedly pretty cute when Sam got close enough to actually see her. She wore understated makeup, a denim skirt and black leggings with a casual pastel yellow top, and of course those green fingernails and the blue barrette. Her eyes were blue too, and Sam was relieved to find that she seemed to be around the his age, not too old or too young. She wasn't any exotically striking beauty, but all the same she was pretty and attractive.

Basically, it seemed too good to be true.

Sam waited until she was packing up her keyboard before he approached her. She was busy struggling to get the cover on when he walked up, and he stood there awkwardly for a moment before speaking. "Hey, I really liked that song you sang earlier, about city lights…" _Wow, I really am out of practice_, he realized. It hit him just how long it had been since he'd actually gotten a girl's number. _Maybe Dean isn't so delusional after all._

"Lemme guess, you got something for me to 'hold on to'?" she bit back sharply without looking up, zipping up the plastic cover. "Listen, buddy, I hear that line about eighteen times a week and…" She straightened up and trailed off as she looked up, and up, and up. He had almost a foot on her, and he stifled the urge to chuckle at the transparency of her astonishment. She quailed momentarily and then seemed to muster herself, glaring and finishing, "Just – don't try it, alright?"

"No, no, that's not what I – I just, I thought you sang it really well," Sam assured her hastily, feeling more oversized and gawky than he had in a long time. "You really evoked the – the anonymity of the city, you know, getting lost in the crowd, surrounded by people but totally alone, and you really brought it to life, and. I've never heard that song before and I was wondering if you, uh, wrote it."

She flushed, looking sheepish. "Oh. Thanks. No, it's not mine, it's by Sarah Bareilles. It's called 'City.'" Her left hand fiddled with the pocket of her skirt. "Sorry for snapping at you. I guess I'm used to a certain sort of guy approaching me."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "The sleazy sort?"

"The intoxicated sort," she corrected.

"Isn't it weird how many drunk guys there are at bars?" he joked.

She smiled. "It's downright bizarre." And with that, she bent down to heave up her keyboard.

"Hey, you want a hand with that?" Sam offered.

She hesitated a moment, eyeing him, eyeing the keyboard and its clunky stand, clearly torn. Finally she came to a decision. "Sure. My car is out back."

So Sam picked up the keyboard and let her take the stand, and followed her out to her car, pushing it into the back seat at her direction. She shoved the stand in with a grunt and slammed the car door, and promptly opened the driver's door and got in.

"Wait!" Sam found himself yelping, his hand darting out to catch her door without even thinking. "I'm Sam! Sam Winchester." And whoops, out came his real name. _Good thinking, Sam_.

She looked at his hand pointedly, but he could tell by quirk of her mouth that she wasn't really offended by his intrusiveness. "Thank you, Sam. Nice to meet you. You are keeping me from closing my car door. Please don't make me Mace you."

Holy crap, this was becoming a spectacular disaster, but for some reason he couldn't let her just leave. "You're Jenny, right?" he pressed.

She sighed. "Jen. And seriously, you seem like a nice guy, but the Mace is on my keychain, and I don't want to use it, but I will."

He grinned recklessly. He'd had worse. "Any chance I could get your number?"

Her small smirk widened, and her blue eyes sparkled. "Nope." She rattled her keychain.

Sam released her door and stepped back, and it was weird, because he should have felt totally rejected, but the way she was looking at him… he had a really good feeling about this, and something like hope was humming in his chest.

She pulled her door gently shut, gave him one last amused glance through the window, and started the engine.

Even as she drove off, Sam couldn't help but think, _Yeah. I'm going to see her again._

…..

The second Sam loped off to get that keyboard chick's number, Dean turned to Cas. "So he bought it?" he asked.

Cas nodded, his eyes still following Sam across the bar.

Dean chuckled deviously into his beer, and it sounded a little evil even to his own ears. It was all coming together.

You see, everybody thought Sam was the smart one of the family, but Dean was no idiot. Dean was the guy who came up with plans so crazy they just might work, the one who did something so unpredictable that even he himself didn't see it coming. He was the wild card. Sam was smart, alright, smarter than Dean would ever be, but he was _book_ smart, and he was so damn predictable you could set your watch by him. And that's where Dean's plan came in.

Dean knew that if he tried to set Sam up, Sam would figure it out almost immediately and baulk. The kid had never liked being pushed into anything, certainly not by Dean, and Dean _knew _that Sammy didn't trust his judgment in the female department (which, of course, he should, since Dean was clearly the smoother operator). Years of lying and schmoozing and gambling and manipulating had taught Dean a very valuable trick: if you want to be trusted, get caught. You get caught making a stupid, obvious tell and it makes the other person think they're smarter than you, that they've beat you at your own game. Then they get overconfident, and you can lead that horse to water faster than you can say "Gotcha."

The funniest part of the whole thing was that Sam knew all this, had _used_ this same trick before, and if he ever figured out what Dean had done he was going to feel soooo stupid. And honestly, it probably wouldn't have worked if Dean had been pulling this scam alone – but Cas. Dear, sweet, not-so-innocent Cas was his ace in the hole. Sam never saw it coming.

The plan was as follows: Dean throws some girl at Sam. Sam, naturally, looks a gift horse in the mouth and sends her away. Dean pitches a fit and goes to the little boys' room. Sam knows something is afoot; he interrogates Cas to find out what. Cas tells him that Dean has been feeling real shitty about the bitchy way he acted during the apocalypse, with the whole Michael thing and all, and the only way he knows how to make it up to Sam is by setting him up with a nice girl. Cas urges Sam to just go with the flow, to humor Dean, because it's the only way Dean will feel better about it. Sam, bleeding heart that he is, agrees to go along, hopefully even taking a proactive approach and picking out his own chicks. And Sam thinks he's the one in control, that he's just faking it for Dean's sake, and before he knows it he's sharing a single strand of spaghetti with some hot babe and he realizes, "Hey, this isn't so bad. I think this is what fun feels like!" And then he takes the stick out of his ass and they all live happily freakin' ever after.

Sure, it was a little manipulative. But it was for Sammy's own good. And it all rode on Cas, who had apparently passed with flying colors. Dean was damn impressed; Cas's lying had come a long, long way (courtesy of some coaching from a certain Winchester).

But now they were sitting alone together, drinking their beer, and Cas was being a little too quiet even for Cas. Dean wondered if maybe he was upset about the lying part, and he immediately felt like shit. He hadn't even stopped to ask Cas if he wanted to be roped into this whole thing.

He set down his glass and cleared his throat. "Hey, Cas."

Cas turned his head slowly, with that alien smoothness that reminded Dean that he hadn't always been human. Colored lights on the ceiling lit his black hair with midnight blue and painted his face in shades of pale purple, and the whites of his eyes glinted out of their dark hollows as they slid to lock unerringly with Dean's. Pooling deeply in his eyes was something so – oh God, something so pained and knowing and infinitely lonely that it took Dean's breath away.

Dean forgot what he was going to say.

He coughed.

"Uh." Damn it, he had been about to say… something… but now the weird ache in his chest was distracting him, and all he could think was _Fuck, Cas, don't look at me like that, what did I do, Jesus Christ, man I'll do anything you want just don't look like that, c'mere, c'mere, what's wrong. _Instead what came out was, "So who died?"

Cas stared. "No one."

Dean groaned. "I mean, what's bothering you? You look like depressed as hell."

Cas's lips tightened.

And that's when Sam loped back to the table, looking carefully casual. This Dr. Phil session with Cas would have to be put on hold.

"So?" Dean demanded. "You get her number?"

"No," Sam answered nonchalantly.

Dean craned his neck forward, his voice tight and clipped. "Did you _ask?_"

Sam played with a coaster, still pretending to be too cool for school. "Yup."

Oh. Well, that was alright then. Too bad for Sam, but hey – you win some, you lose some, right? "Sorry, man." Dean slapped him on the back. "But she's probably mental anyways. Musical chicks always are. Just look at Courtney Love."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure, Dean."

"And you know what time it is?" Dean asked, grinning and jumping his eyebrows. "Time to get _plastered!_"

Cas looked mildly queasy at the prospect.

Dean sighed in disappointment. "Or we could go back to the motel and read a selection from Oprah's book club while we sip hot cocoa," he offered sarcastically.

Cas cocked his head. "I've never had cocoa."

"_What?_" Dean exclaimed. He stood up and grabbed his jacket, because this shit needed to be corrected right this minute. "Alright, that's it. We're blowing this popsicle stand and making a Safeway run. We have to get the kind with mini-marshmallows. You will _love_ the mini-marshmallows. Hell, Cas, for you we'll even splurge on the name-brand Swiss Miss crap, because I ain't letting some Safeway discount chocolate sand ruin you on cocoa…"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: _First of all, thank you A MILLION TIMES to everyone who reviewed. You gave me the strength to continue with this chapter (more on that below). You got me my fix and kept the walls from melting. Now a creepy guy in a bunny suit named Frank wants me to tell you to review. I don't like Frank; he freaks me the fuck out. Please review so he'll go away. _

_Second of all: Oh. My. GOD. This chapter, this _goddamned chapter_. I rewrote this thing at least 3 times, no joke. Juggling two storylines at once is hard! Especially when one is Dean/Cas, and as we all know, they are attention. Whores. (Okay, it's mostly Dean, but Cas is learning. And now they both keep bugging me to give them more screen time.) So I ended up with some stuff that will be used in later chapters, a lot of stuff that will never see the light of day, and the chapter you see before you, which is FINALLY as Sam-centric as I wanted it to be. (Oh, don't worry, we'll get back to those other two! I love them; I won't forget them.) _

_As a consequence of my writing struggles, everyone who reviews this chapter gets a special, **once-in-a-lifetime offer**: if you so desire, I will totally send you a tiny 480-word fluffy side anecdote that got cut for pacing purposes, but which is canon to my story. It's about Castiel's introduction to cocoa. So, if you want to read it, just review (and please not a one-liner "nice job kthnx i can haz castiel") and let me know that you'd like me to send it to you. _

_Finally, I apologize. I've been telling you non-stop to listen to "Gravity" but it's still not being used yet. Actually, in this chapter I ended up throwing in Queen's "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy." I think more of you will know this than Bareilles's stuff, but just thought I'd give you some forewarning if you wanted to look it up and listen. It's a really funny song. _

* * *

The next evening, the three of them returned the same bar. "Highline," it was called. Sam felt a strange buzz of anticipation rising in his chest.

It was strange because Jen wasn't exactly out of the ordinary; he'd met dozens of girls just as cute and forgettable over the years, and the only reason he'd even approached her was because Dean kinda forced him to. Odds were that she was just as wrapped up in the banal drama of the utterly average life as Kelsey was. And yeah, at one time that would have appealed to him, but he'd been through too much to seriously want that type of girl anymore. He was damaged goods, and he needed a woman who understood his kind of mentality; she didn't have to be as warped as he was, but she had to be capable of comprehending him, of letting his dark past lie undisturbed and unmentioned. That kind of woman was rare, and in all likelihood, Jen wasn't rare.

But then, he'd never heard anyone sing like Jen. In that respect, she was definitely extraordinary.

So when they entered the place, he scanned the room, and his stomach dropped a little to see that she wasn't there. Oh well. No biggie, right? It was just. He'd really thought (hoped) she'd be there.

Dean, meanwhile, had zeroed in on a couple of attractive ladies seated at the bar. He jerked his head at Sam and Cas and barked, "C'mon, fellas. It's showtime."

They were a redhead named Claire and a honey-blonde named Lily, two actresses just passing through on their way to L.A., and they loved (LOVED) firefighters, which is coincidentally what Dean claimed he and Sam were. Cas was evidently an artist (which, okay, even Sam had to admit that was pretty brilliant, because artists were notoriously eccentric _and_ fairly chic), and whaddya know, Claire especially loved artists. Dean claimed that he and Sam had met Cas when his previous studio burnt down (there was a whole side story about how Cas had led 3 other people in the building to safety and become a local hero) and now they all went rock-climbing together.

Claire and Lily ate it up.

To be fair, it wasn't a horrible backstory for getting someone in the sack. But Sam thought Dean had understood that he didn't _want _a one-night stand. Not that he didn't ever have them, it was just – he hated the feeling that you were both just putting on fake personas and plastic smiles to trick the other person into getting you off. If they were going to be sticking around the area for awhile, there wasn't any reason he couldn't meet somebody he actually really_ liked_.

Well, he _had_ met somebody. But all he had was a first name and a license plate, and following up on that seemed moderately creepy.

To his credit, Dean was an excellent wingman. He was singing Sam's praises and telling tales of his valor, and though Sam was merely chagrined by the audacious lies flowing out of Dean's mouth, he could see in the girls' worshipful eyes that he came off as adorably modest. Although Claire seemed more interested in Cas and Dean, Lily was definitely into Sam. She wasn't too forward or salacious about it either; she just laughed in all the right places, smiled extra coyly at him, leaned just a little more in his direction.

Sam responded politely, not encouraging her too much but not exactly discouraging her either. It was the variation on the well-orchestrated dance he did with key witnesses, one he'd performed probably a hundred times; grin openly here, now furrow your brow in concern, laugh lightly, gaze down at your beer, look back up without raising your head, bite the inside of your bottom lip and give just one lopsided half of a smile. She danced the other half of his choreography perfectly, obviously a pro herself. It was all very neat, very predictable, very safe.

He couldn't help but remember the impulsive way his hand had darted out and grabbed Jen's door, without him even really meaning to. The way he'd felt unbalanced, out-of-control, even a little crazy. He'd sure _acted_ crazy.

So when Claire and Lily mentioned that they were supposed to meet some other friends at a party down the street, and that the three of them should totally come with, and Dean grinned and replied, "We'd love to. Right, Sam?" and looked to him for affirmation, Sam hesitated for just a second. _Right, Dean _was the answer Dean was looking for. _Sure thing, Dean_ was what he should be saying. _Sounds cool_ was what he was going to say any minute now.

A piano started to play over the speakers, and Sam's pulse got a little faster.

He couldn't look, didn't need to look to see if it was her or not. The mere _possibility_ that it could be Jen was putting all his senses on alert, and that was enough for him. "Actually," he hedged, "I really shouldn't. I've got an early shift tomorrow, and I need to get some sleep. You guys go on ahead."

The girls made disappointed noises and pouted cutely at him.

Dean glared. "C'mon, Sam," he insisted with false cheer. "You _have_ to come."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam retorted, stepping on his boot under the table. "Really, don't feel bad. You guys go enjoy yourselves."

Dean gave him one last wrathful look before relenting and chuckling to the girls. "Well, then, I guess it's just me and Cas then, if that's alright."

They giggled and reassured Dean that it was_ plenty_ alright, and the four of them waltzed out of the bar, Dean casting back one last irate look. Sam sighed; _Dean, Dean, Dean. I can only play along with your little game for so long._

"This next song goes out to Sam, who I met yesterday."

Sam whipped his head around. Jen was on stage, sitting at her keyboard and leaning into the microphone.

"Sam, if you come talk to me after this set, I probably won't Mace you." She paused a moment. "Probably."

Yeah, okay, that was more than enough invitation for Sam.

She started to play a delicate, classy melody. As she sang the opening verse primly, Sam recognized it, and he started to grin. "_I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sa-a-ad things, we can do the tango just for twooo; I can serenade and gently play on your hea-art strings, beee a Valentino just for youuuuu._"

Then it gave way to a robust, romping chorus and a leering slide in her voice. "_Oooo, love, ooo, loverbooooy – whatcha doin' tonight? Hey boy!_" And Sam was close enough to see her throw a wink in his direction.

Sam actually laughed out loud.

"_Set my alarm, turn on my charm, that's because I'm a good old fashioned loverboy!_"

….

"You know, you gave me the distinct impression yesterday that you thought I was some kind of serial killer," Sam told her.

She bit her lip and grinned into her beer. "Okay, so I'm not one of those girls who plays hard to get, but I do have a few rules."

"Uh oh." Sam raised his eyebrows. "You're big on rules? Cuz I have a feeling I broke a few."

"Rules for myself," she clarified. "You see, I play here almost every weekend. I'm not exactly hard to find – if you want to find me, that is. So rule one: I never give out my number on the first try. I don't like getting bootycalled."

"Ahh." Sam nodded sagely. "I'll keep that in mind for future reference."

"Shut up," she retorted playfully, whacking his arm lightly with the back of her hand and leaning her shoulder into his. Then she kind of froze, and said, "Uh, that was weird. I don't normally – wow, sorry. It's just, I barely even know you and here I am, physically assaulting you –"

Sam chuckled. "Right, I think I'm getting a bruise, right next to the one from when a butterfly landed on me earlier."

"I just slipped into friend mode," Jen admitted. "You're that kinda guy, you know? You give off trustworthy vibes." She took a swig of her beer. "So where'd you go to school?"

"As in college?" Sam asked. "What makes you assume I went anywhere?"

Jen rolled her eyes. "Please. Yesterday you used the word 'anonymity' in a sentence, and not because it sounded fancy but because it was the right word. Where'd you go to college?"

"Stanford. But – I didn't finish," Sam admitted. "My… well, it's a long story, but my girlfriend died my senior year, and I just couldn't stay there, you know? And… I kept meaning to go back but I never got around to it." He wasn't sure why, but something about Jen made him want to be as honest as possible. As honest as possible without sounding insane, of course.

Jen was wide-eyed and shocked. "God, Sam, I'm so sorry."

He nodded. "Yeah, it was rough, but I got through it, and it was… a long time ago." He thumbed along the lip of his beer bottle. "So, how about you? Did you go to college?"

She sighed, picking at the label on her own bottle. "Yeah, I went to Arizona State for awhile. I didn't finish either." She chuckled bitterly. "I had all these big dreams, all these plans for what I was going to do with my life, and none of it worked out. I wish I could say there was a good reason, but it was just a bunch of little stuff that accumulated, one bad choice after another and… I just quit school, packed up my bags and moved out to California. For a long time I thought about going back, but now it's been so long, and my life is – so radically different from what it used to be, that those dreams – they don't even make sense anymore, because I'm not the same person anymore. Backtracking and trying to re-route my life into some naïve fairytale seems… impossible. And the thing is, even if I _could_, I don't know if I _want_ to." She glanced up at him, uncertain. "You know?"

Boy, did he ever.

"I was going to be a music teacher," she added softly, wistfully, staring fixedly into her beer. "God, can you even imagine? Me, teaching a bunch of six-year-olds to play the recorder?" A strand of dark hair fell into her face, resting lightly on the nearly-invisible freckles scattered along her cheekbone; she didn't bother to tuck it back, her eyes distant. For a moment, she looked small and vulnerable.

Okay, so she dressed a little unconventionally and carried Mace. But she shone with the pure force her own bright personality, and she was talented as hell. She would be a great teacher. "Yeah," Sam replied. "I can."

She gazed at him, her blue eyes shining bittersweet. "And what about you, Sam? What were you going to be?"

"A lawyer." Christ, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

She nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I can see that. What do you do now?"

Sam took a second to answer, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it without exactly lying. "Well. Um. Jen. Here's the thing."

Jen waited patiently.

"My brother and I – you saw my brother, the guy in the leather jacket who came in with me?" Sam momentarily sidetracked.

Jen nodded.

"Well, he and I. We, uh, we used to have a kind of a business together. And." He pursed his lips. "Okay, I'm just going to admit it, it wasn't entirely legal. No, scratch that, it was entirely _i_llegal. But we thought we weren't hurting anybody, just – thwarting the system, that kind of thing. We were just trying to help people, really."

Jen looked surprised, but not horrified. So. That was good.

"But then this last year, we caught up in this – it was essentially a turf war between two organizations, and both sides were trying to use us as pawns. And this fight, it wasn't the good guys versus the bad guys – it was the bad guys versus even worse guys, and it was going to end in a huge bloodbath if they had their way. My brother and I narrowly managed to avert it, but we… almost didn't make it out of that scrape." Sam shrugged matter-of-factly. "So, we learned our lesson. We quit the business, and we've been looking for a place to settle down and find legitimate work."

Jen raised her eyebrow. "Sam Winchester goes straight, huh?"

Ohhhhh shit. That's right. He'd said his real name. He chuckled, trying to ignore the weight in the pit of his stomach. "Pretty much."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You weren't drug dealers, were you?"

"No," Sam assured. "Nothing like that. And like I said, that's all over now." He gave her his most innocent, demure-yet-pleading hopeful puppy face. "Can we… still be friends?"

She didn't answer for a long moment. _Please, please let her not care,_ Sam prayed. _This girl is something, I can tell. She's somebody I could really – _

_Somebody I could really love. _

"Alright," she finally relented. "But so help me, if you stash any bodies in my trunk…"

"Nah, you don't have to worry about that." A wide grin split across Sam's face. "My brother's got plenty of room in _his _car."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: _Muchas gracias, mis lectores preciosos! I very much appreciate all of your awesome, wonderful reviews, especially since it made Frank finally go away. I had to set some stuff on fire first, but it was no biggie. I sent the Cas & Cocoa piece to everyone who asked for it - if you somehow got missed, please let me know and I will gladly send it to you. Thanks for reviewing, you guys. This hella-early update is for you. I'm gonna be busy this next week, so I will _try_ to continue updating quickly, but this is my way of garnering favor in case things get delayed later on._

_In other news, this chapter is very firmly ENTIRELY about Dean and Cas, so those of you who said you missed them - look out. You might come to regret those words, haha. Actually, I'm a bit nervous about this chapter in general, because it's not quite in line with what I originally had planned, but it makes more sense with the characters and the nature of their relationship in this story. Please let me know if you think it works. (But I beg of you, criticize constructively; 'u suck stop writing u ruined destiel 4 me' will make me weep, and not single manly tears like Dean but big ol' cheek-staining torrential tears like Sam. It's not pretty.)  
_

_Also, in this chapter I drop several, um, f-bombs, but I kept it T because the action is very T. If you are a young, impressionable child, stop reading this. You shouldn't be surfing the internet for gay celestial romance stories in the first place! Go do your homework, and clean your room!  
_

_Now, without further ado, I give you Chapter Five._

* * *

Dean and Cas stumbled into the dark motel room, and Dean flicked on the lights. A second later he realized that that would have been a bad choice if Sam had been in bed (it was three in the morning, reasonable time for the kid to be in bed, musta gotten lucky with that chick, good for Sammy), but the room was empty.

Dean chuckled, because right now everything was reaaaally funny. "Sammy's gettin' laaaid."

Cas blinked slowly and with great concentration, clinging to Dean for balance. "We could have. Got laid."

Dean shook his head a little too vigorously, making his head swim. "Nope, Cas, not we, _you._ You still don't get it… Next time, maybe." And he kind of clutched Cas back, because really, he wasn't any more balanced than Cas was. And it was nice to grab onto something.

Dean was always dimly aware of how grabby he got when he was drunk, and when he was sober, it was something he was embarrassed about. But when he'd had a few too many, like he had now, he really couldn't give a flying fuck. It was _Cas_, for crying out loud. Dean was allowed to grab Cas because Cas was his.

Okay, so that didn't make any sense. Whatever. Shut your mouth.

And so Dean held onto Cas and tried to steer them towards the sink, because Cas got so sick last weekend that Dean was gonna make_ sure_ he drank some water before they went to bed. He took care of his Cas just like he took care of his Sammy. But somehow he backed Cas into a bed on accident, and the dude stumbled and fell backwards onto the bed and dragged Dean down with him and Dean fell right on top of him, facedown with his head landing just to the right of Cas's, squishing the guy and landing in what might be considered a compromising position.

Cas sighed and threw back his head, closing his eyes. "Sorry."

Dean chuckled, because really, it was so funny. "No, dude, my bad." And he didn't get up right away because of how funny it was, and also it felt pretty nice because Cas was warm, and he was tired, and this would be a good way to sleep except that Cas probably couldn't breathe. And at that thought, he struggled to get on his elbows a little bit, let Cas up. Cas's hips shifted beneath him, and he tried to ignore the alert, tight way that made him feel.

"_Dean_," Cas groaned.

Dean lifted up his head and saw Cas's bare neck, stretched out in front of him, and something hot and hungry flared up inside of him and for some reason it seemed like a really good idea to put his mouth there. And he bent down and licked his lips, and then –

The toilet flushed.

Sam_. _

_Sam is here._

Suddenly the blood was rushing to Dean's face, and he couldn't believe what he almost did, what he was still doing. He rolled off of Cas hastily and accidentally rolled off the bed with a loud thump.

"Ooooowwww," he moaned, muffled in the carpet.

The bathroom door creaked open. "Cas, you drink some water?" Sam asked, sounding groggy.

"No."

"Do that." A beat of silence. "Where's Dean?"

"He fell."

"Dean!" Sam barked sharply.

"_Whaaaaat?_" Dean whined aggravatedly into the floor. Because he was hoping he could just lie here and go to sleep and never look at Cas again.

"Take off your shoes. Help Cas. Go to bed."

Dean made a threatening noise and then wearily clambered up from the floor. Sam was right, after all. He had to make sure Cas got his water, had to look out for his Cas. That's what friends do, right? Dean hadn't had very many close friends in his life, but he had Bobby, and Sam, and Dad, and he knew that when you love somebody you get them water when they're drunk and you stitch them up when they get cut and you don't let nobody, nobody ever hurt them.

So he helped Cas get a plastic cup and fill it at the faucet of the kitchenette, and watched him to make sure he drank it. Sam climbed back into bed and pulled the covers tight up around his head and muttered, "Don't forget to turn out the light."

Dean sat Cas down and pulled off his shoes, kicked off his own, and then he flicked the light switch and let his eyes adjust to the dark. He tucked Cas into the right side of the bed (he wanted a real bed tonight, he could just get in with Cas, it wasn't a big deal, the bed was freakin' huge) and Cas snuggled into the blankets all content and cute as shit.

Dean chuckled and gave him a quick peck. "Night, Cas." Then he climbed into his own side of the bed and slipped into the slumber of the dead.

…..

Dean's eyes snapped open, and he sat up, his head pounding. _Cas. Me and Cas, last night -_ Holy fuck. _Did I…?_

Cas was fast asleep, thank Jesus, and he was still securely on his side of the bed. Hazy fragments of the night before were piecing themselves together.

They'd gone to that party down the street, which had turned out to be a lot farther than down the street, in somebody's high-rise apartment. It had a great stereo system, and it was packed with young beautiful people – noisy, crowded, sweaty. In short, Dean's favorite kind of party. Dean had spent a good while grousing about Sam's refusal to come, but soon (a lot sooner than he expected) both he and Cas were somewhere between moderately and very drunk.

Lily had long since disappeared into the masses, but Claire had fixed on Cas, always touching him and grinding on him and whispering in his ear and shit. Dean didn't like her; he had a bad gut feeling about her, and though he couldn't pin down why, years of hunting had taught him to trust his instincts. His instincts were telling him to punch her in the face and take Cas far far away from her, but, well, that kind of behavior just wasn't accepted in polite company. In any case, she was bad news.

Dean found another pretty young thing to partner up with (Christine? Caroline?), and the four of them partied the night away. It was a few hours later that Cas tugged on the hem of Dean's shirt and said, "Come on, Dean. Claire wants to take us somewhere quieter."

Dean snorted, shook his head. "No, dude, she wants to take _you_ somewhere quieter."

Cas looked totally perplexed, and as much as he'd drunk, he probably was. "Why?"

Dean leaned into his ear, not wanting his explanation to be overheard. "She wants to have sex, Cas."

Cas smiled like he understood. "Ohhh." Then he tugged insistently. "Then hurry, Dean, let's go."

"No!" Dean blurted, laughing. "Just you, dude, I can't come. Claire only wants _you_."

Cas just furrowed his brows upward, confused and upset. "But I don't want to go… without you…"

And suddenly Claire was right there at Cas's side, smiling tipsily at him and pulling on his arm, and Cas shot Dean this desperate, pleading look.

Dean sighed. "Claire, Cas is too drunk. He doesn't feel good, and if you try and get in his pants tonight he's gonna blow chunks all over you. Sorry. It ain't happenin'."

Claire's jaw dropped, and she huffed and stormed away, swallowed up by the crowd. Dean felt weirdly relieved, like some big crisis had been averted.

Suddenly Cas was grabbing Dean by the wrist, his thumb pressing over Dean's pulse, dragging Dean towards the dance area. "It's the song!" he shouted excitedly. "The song is playing!"

The stereo blared that familiar chord progression. "_I. Wanna rock and roll all ni-i-ight!_"

"_AND PARTY EVERY DAY!_" Cas yelled, jumping and throwing the devil-horn hand sign. He grinned at Dean, full and blinding. "Our song, Dean!"

For no reason at all, the bottom dropped out of Dean's stomach, and he reflected Cas's smile weakly. "Our song," he echoed.

Cas seemed to notice Dean's lackluster enthusiasm, and he moved his hand up to the crook of Dean's elbow, his fingers warm and electric on Dean's skin. His black hair was mussed wildly, raked unevenly and unkempt; even without wings, he somehow always looked windblown, a force of nature unto himself. He peered into Dean's eyes with his own brilliant blue ones, and his grin faded into a smile that was small and personal. "I remember the first moment I laid eyes on you," he said, soft as he could be over the music. "Even in the bowels of perdition, your soul shone brightly."

Dean tried to think of something to say, a joke to make or a sarcastic comment, but filling up all the empty space where his thoughts should be was Cas's fingers on his arm, so near to the permanent print they'd once created. "Cas," he mumbled, "I need another drink…"

Cas nodded. "You drink too much."

Dean laughed. "Your mouth says no, but your body says yes."

And then they'd had several more drinks and finally staggered back to the motel, and then Dean had almost fucking _tasted Cas's neck_ and then he _gave him a kiss goodnight_. Jesus M. F. Christ.

Things were getting out of hand.

Sam's bed was empty, a folded piece of paper on his pillow with "Dean" written on it. Dean snatched it up and scanned it quickly.

"Dean - I'm going to lunch with Jen (piano girl), and I'm taking the Impala. You were pretty drunk last night, and I don't know how much you remember, but don't freak out. Nothing weird happened – you and Cas just slept in the same bed. STOP GETTING SO DRUNK ALL THE TIME. Next time it happens, I'm drawing on your face. Sam."

Oh, so the piano girl gave him her number after all. And her name was Jen. And Sam _took the goddamn Impala_, the son of a bitch. Son of a _bitch_!

Dean sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair. It was okay, really, because nothing (it was just a peck, it was nothing) had happened last night, Dean's temporary lapse of sanity was over now, and he'd learned his lesson about mixing tequila and Kahlua, so why was the idea of spending the day alone with Cas wigging him the hell out?

Alone with Cas. No car. Damn damn damn.

"Dean?"

Dean turned and shot Cas a wan smile. "How ya doin', buddy?"

Cas squinted. "Hungover. But not as badly. The water did help." He sat up slowly, painfully. "And yourself?"

"Not bad, considering," Dean replied.

"Dean," Cas started. "About… last night –"

"Look, you were really drunk," Dean interrupted, chuckling, "and it was your first time actually trying to pick up a chick. Don't feel bad about it. There'll be plenty of other opportunities."

Cas frowned, and then seemed to understand. "Oh, with Claire. Yes. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Dean's mouth went completely dry. "What –" He cleared his throat, tried again. "What _did _you wanna talk about?"

Cas hesitated, staring at the bedspread.

Dean's fingers twitched anxiously.

"I can't go drinking with you anymore."

Dean squinted incredulously, turned his head sideways. "What? I thought we had a good time last night! And you said the hangover isn't so bad. And if you don't drink so much, you won't hardly get a hangover at all."

Cas steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. "It's not the hangover, Dean."

Icy dread crept up Dean's spine. "Why, then?" he asked, half-afraid to hear the answer.

Cas tightened his lips, closed his eyes.

"Look at me, Cas," Dean pleaded. "Tell me why."

Finally Cas opened his eyes and turned them towards Dean's, his face heavy with the same knowing, pained look Dean had seen in the bar a couple nights before. "You don't want to know."

Pain stabbed through Dean's chest, and all of the sudden he was pissed as hell, because screw this emo shit. He stood up from the bed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded loudly. "Of course I want to know! I'm a grown man, Cas! If I'm asking, I want you to goddamn tell me, and don't give me any of that 'You can't handle the truth' bullshit because I've _seen_ that movie and you are _not_ Jack goddamn Nicholson!"

Cas got up from the bed, standing stiff and straight as an arrow. "You want to know, do you?" he shot back, his voice flinty and harsh. "You think I owe you some kind of explanation?"

"Well, you sure as hell owe me _something_," Dean snarled, unsure of what he meant by that.

Cas's eyes widened, intensified, fierce and hawkish. He stepped towards Dean, and it was all Dean could do not to take a step back. "Then here's the _truth_, Dean Winchester," he growled, gravelly and dangerous. "I don't want to get _drunk_ with you anymore because you lose all sense of judgment when you're intoxicated, and _I _lose my self control, and I'm afraid that the next time it happens I will accidentally _fuck you blind_ like I _wanted to last night!_"

Dean was literally speechless. He tried to say something, anything, but no words came out.

Something broke in Cas's angry eyes. He stepped into his shoes and grabbed his trenchcoat, still dressed in last night's clothing. "Don't follow me," he muttered. "I won't get far, anyway." And he stormed out the door and slammed it behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: _Oh, my dancing daffodils, my lovely lilies, my beautiful buttercups, my odoriferous orchids; thank you so much for your fabulous, fantastic reviews. I slaved tirelessly over this chapter in spite of my real-world obligations (I had to get up at 6:30 in the morning; weep for me, my raucous roses) and most importantly: I could have made this chapter entirely about Sam. BUT - I didn't. You get a little dash of Cas with your Sam/Jen helping. I do it all for you, my belligerent bluebells. So please, grace me with your reviews and make me the happiest author of man/angel fiction on the planet. _

_Though, there this a guy in Sri Lanka who keeps writing Touched by an Angel slash, and I hear he's reaaaally happy. So you guys are going to have to review _extra hard_ to win me that record. _

_And, c'mon. Touched by an Angel. With a title like that, you gotta expect that the internet's gonna be making some porn with your name on it. _

_Without further ado - the chapter. _

* * *

"Favorite ice cream flavor?" Sam asked.

"Ooo, that's a toughie," Jen responded, eating a French fry while mulling it over. She swallowed and continued, "I'm gonna go with the classic – chocolate chip cookie dough. Now my turn."

She'd asked him to meet her for lunch at her favorite burger joint, and while sitting under an umbrella at one of the outdoor tables was pleasant and comfortable, it didn't exactly scream "ROMANCE!" After they'd had an engaging conversation about some very random topics and eaten most of their food, they had decided to get straight down to the interrogation, which, Jen insisted, was a necessary component of making a new friend.

Sam didn't know if he liked that word – _friend_ – but he was willing to live with it. For now. Jen would be a great friend, sure, but… she had a really cute smile. For some reason, that was the thing that sealed it for Sam. The slim figure, the nice ass, the small but shapely B-cups – that stuff was all great and appealing, sure. But every time she made a funny face or shot him a sly look he got the strongest urge to grab her by the waist and kiss that cute smile right off.

He wasn't gonna _do_ it, of course. Not yet, anyways. He got the feeling he was undergoing some sort of test, like he was applying for a job at a particularly eccentric company, only he had no idea what the qualifications were, or what his job might entail, or how long he might expect to be employed.

There was no question that Jen was in charge, though.

Meanwhile, she was still coming up with her question. She squinted at Sam and looked him up and down appraisingly, like he was some deadly foe and she was sizing him up. Finally she settled back on his face, eyes narrowed decisively. "What do you consider to be your greatest flaw?"

Sam clutched his heart. "You – you think I'm flawed?" he choked dramatically.

Jen grinned and threw at fry at him. "Just answer the question, Slick."

Sam considered for a minute. He had so many to choose from… _Hmm. My greatest flaw is that, when they warned me "the road to hell is paved with good intentions," I never took it literally enough. My greatest flaw is that I tend to get so consumed by rage and revenge that I'm blind to the consequences. My greatest flaw is that I'm a recovered addict. My greatest flaw is that I was always the self-righteous and enlightened one in my family, and I was so self-righteous and enlightened that it took me twenty-five years to see that everything my dad did he did for a damn good reason._ Then he snorted inwardly. _My greatest flaw is that I'm just _too gorgeous_._

Jen choked on her water.

"You okay?" Sam asked, worried.

"Yes, I'm fine," she gasped. "Just that face you made… it cracked me up. I can just see the wiseass remark formulating in your head." She regained her composure. "Now answer my question, and be serious."

Sam grinned and then chose his words carefully. "I think my greatest flaw is that I'm book smart, but sometimes, when comes down to the stuff that's really important in life, I'm a complete idiot." His heart smarted a little as he thought back on the past few years, and all the stupid decisions he'd made. "I'm working on it, though. Now you, same question."

Jen mulled it over for a minute, dipping a fry in ketchup idly. "I guess… my greatest flaw is that I want things too badly," she mused, staring down at her plate. "I set my heart on some unobtainable dream, and I… I get really hurt when it doesn't come true. I used to want everything I couldn't have so much that my chest ached every time I looked in the mirror and saw reality staring back. Lately I've been trying… really hard… to, you know." She shrugged. "Accept things the way they are. Love the life I'm living. Keep my head out of the clouds."

Sam nodded. He could sympathize with that sentiment. But he had to wonder… "What do you wish was different about your life?"

Jen looked up through her eyelashes at him, her lips slowly curving into a smile. "It's not your turn."

Okay, maybe this was stupid, but Sam took a chance. "Why do we need turns?" he challenged. "We're not keeping score, are we?"

Jen bit her lip and smiled even wider, but returned her gaze to her plate. "Why not?" she asked casually. "You afraid you'll lose?"

Sam chuckled, responding without even thinking. "No, I _know_ I'll lose. You've got me beat, hands down."

Jen propped her head up on her arm and gazed at him dreamily. "Sam Winchester," she sighed, "you are making it harder and harder for me to keep my head out of the clouds."

He laughed, feeling a flush rise on his face (_c'mon, seriously?_ Blushing?) and smirked back at her. "Well, if all it takes to sweep you off your feet is to admit defeat," he quipped, "then I surrender." He tossed a napkin in her direction. "There's my white flag."

She folded the napkin primly in half and half again, a neat white triangle. "Then the terms of your surrender are: you must come hear me play tonight at the Jewelbox restaurant lounge, and pretend like you enjoy it. You can bring your brother and his friend, if you want. Are these terms satisfactory?"

"You kidding me?" Sam asked, incredulous. "Jen, you're a great pianist. And a fantastic singer. I still can't get over that Bareilles song you played on Friday."

It was Jen's turn to go pink. "Thanks."

The waitress brought over their check, and Sam paused the conversation a moment to thank her and pull out his wallet. Jen opened her purse, and Sam assured her, "No, I got it."

Jen gave him a look. "Sam. I asked you to meet me for burgers. You don't have to pay for me. It's not a date."

And, well, Sam was feeling pretty good about this whole afternoon, so he took another chance. It seemed that Jen brought out his gambling side. "Why can't it be a date?" he suggested. "We ate food together. We talked about our lives. Seems like a date to me."

"No," Jen contradicted, "a date is when someone takes you _out_ for food, and you talk about nothing at all because you're too busy being nervous about how you look, and then they pay for your food and you kiss goodnight and never see each other again." She grabbed the check from him, put her money with it, and stood up from the table. "This is not a date."

As they walked out of the gate and towards the parking lot, Sam remarked, "Boy, I'm sure glad that wasn't a date. Dates sound awful."

Jen shook her head woefully and clicked her tongue. "They are, my dear Sam. They are. And I haven't even told you about the posturing! Oh, the posturing. Dates are full of it. Just be thankful we don't have to go through that."

"We're very lucky," Sam agreed, following Jen to her car. "We can just have lunch! And then, when I see you again all the time, we can just talk about books and movies and gender differences in restroom etiquette –"

Jen burst out laughing. "I'm telling you, it's the stalls! The stalls make all the difference. If men didn't have to whip it out in front of each other, they'd go to the bathroom together too."

"– and we can argue about who's the bigger nerd, because seriously, Jen, it's totally you –"

She stopped in front of him and smacked his arm, her face mock indignant and disbelieving. "You are _so wrong,_ Sam, you are a way bigger nerd! I should never have told you that I cried at the end of _The Wrath of Khan!_"

"Nerrrrrrrd," he drawled.

She just laughed, and he laughed with her, and they looked at each other with bright eyes, and their laughter died down –

And suddenly he was bending down and kissing her, and she was wrapping her arms around his neck and standing on her tippy toes and kissing back, and they were kissing right there in the middle of the parking lot in broad daylight and it. Was. _Awesome_.

All too soon she pulled away from him, grinning widely, and she got into her car and waved at him through the window.

Sam waved back dazedly, trying to cling to the sensation of the soft heat of her lips on his, and watched her drive away.

So far, so freakin' good.

…..

Hannah noticed the man the second he walked into the university library. He was kind of hard to miss, actually; he stormed in like his own human tornado, trenchcoat flagging behind him. She half expected a gust of wind to follow him, haphazardly spinning papers and dust into the air. Back rigid, thick black hair ruffled, blue eyes piercing and shadowed, he passed her desk without sparing her a glance, walking like a man on a mission.

However, his mission appeared to be an empty study room. He went inside, not bothering to shut the door, simply sitting at the table.

He sat there, nearly motionless, for almost two hours.

If Hannah hadn't been stationed directly across from him and witnessing the phenomenon with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it. Her first instinct was to tell him that he couldn't just stay in the study room and do nothing, but – there was no such rule. The only rule with the study rooms was that you should sign up for them 24 hours in advance, and if you sign up, you get the room. This man hadn't signed up, but… no one else was exactly clamoring for the space.

Her second instinct was to fear that he was on drugs, and any minute now he was either going to fall over dead or have a seizure, and then she was going to have to call 911 for the first time in her young life. So, in the interest of preventing that scenario, she got up from her desk and started towards his room.

Suddenly, he moved. He sighed and pulled a cellphone out of his pocket. He set it on the table and stared at it for a minute.

_Ohmygod_, _ohmygod,_ Hannah thought. _In a second he's going to call a loved one and tell them he's going to jump off the bridge, or call his drug dealer and demand for his money back. Ooo! Ooo! Or maybe he'll call his girlfriend and tell her he wants to keep the baby after all! _And, in a fit of curiosity, she stopped just short of the study room and pretended to re-shelve some books.

Hannah knew it wasn't right. But she couldn't help it. The library wasn't exactly an exciting place; you had to take your thrills where you could find them.

A minute later he finally dialed.

Hannah waited, ears perked, stealing glances through the windows.

"Sam," the man said wearily. Wow, his voice was a lot deeper than she expected; kinda bizarrely gravelly, actually. "I've ruined everything."

A pause while the other person – Sam – replied.

The man closed his eyes briefly. "Dean and I were arguing, and I accidentally – I said too much. I just couldn't take… I suppose I overestimated my ability to endure. Regardless, I burned_ that_ bridge quite successfully, and I left. I was just calling to let you know that I'm at the library."

A momentary pause for Sam's response.

"I like the quiet. It's… calming."

Hannah wished desperately that she could hear the other side of the conversation. God, it sounded dramatic. It was like tuning into a soap opera halfway through – you have no idea what's going on, but you can tell by the weighted silences that whatever's going on is _important_.

"And, Sam, I wanted to ask you…"His voice grew strained and thin, his face drawn. "Don't let Dean leave town without me."

Another pause, this one much longer.

"Well, I told him not to follow me," the man answered bitterly. "That leaves only one other direction to run." He sighed again. "Goodbye, Sam." And he hung up his phone.

_That was not _nearly_ informative enough!_ Hannah mentally exclaimed in frustration. _Why oh why can't you just say your inner monologue out loud, oh mysterious man of mystery?_ She shelved a book exasperatedly.

The man stared at the table silently for a second, and then cleared his throat and blinked quickly, one hand coming up to loosen his disheveled tie. And then his face crumpled, looking lost and broken, and he took in one long, shuddering breath, and burst into tears.

It wasn't no silent, stoic tears either. We're talking full-on weeping-into-his-hands, sobs-wracking-his-body CRYING here. And as heartbreaking as it was (and oddly, it truly was kinda heartbreaking), he was being pretty loud about it. And his door was open.

Feeling like the horrible, horrible person she knew she was, Hannah knocked on the door. "Uh, hey, mister," she greeted him awkwardly. "I'm just gonna. Shut this door here. And if you could, um, keep it down a little… cuz… this _is_ a library…"

"I a-apologize," the man hiccupped, eyes red and still streaming. "I've never cried b-before. I'm having difficulty…" A sob overcame him. "Controlling it..."

As cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs as this guy clearly was, his words broke Hannah's heart a little more. Shutting the door behind her, she dashed back to her desk and grabbed her box of Kleenex.

She opened the door hesitantly and slid the box across the table. "So. Um. These are for you. Hope things work out for you."

"Thank you," he choked, taking a fistful of Kleenex, looking so grateful that Hannah's wounded heart squeezed even further.

"No problem," she assured him, closing the door as gently as possible as she left.

And okay, this library job was far from glamorous or anything, but for once in her life… Hannah was glad she took it. Because, for once in her life, she thought that maybe she actually helped somebody that really needed it.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: _Oh, my wonderful readers. I am so sorry for making you wait, but this week was even busier than I thought it would be. As a consequence, this chapter is shorter than usual - I'm going to be super busy again tomorrow, and I figured you'd rather get a shorter update now than no update at all. It's mildly upsetting to me because it kinda screws up the pacing a little, but hey. Life is unpredictable. Ya gotta roll with the punches. _

_I want to write something epically poetic about how awesome you are for reviewing, but I'm super exhausted. So. Lemme just say - every time I post a chapter, I get like an excited puppydog, running around in circles and checking the computer every five minutes, going, "Are there reviews yet? Did someone review yet? Is there a review for me?" When I see a review, I do a mental dance of joy. If it's from one of my regulars, I chuckle and say, "Oh, I wonder what 67impala/Nath2704/non-timebo-mala/Adja/LOSTrocker/FiferRose has to say about THIS chapter." If it's from somebody unexpected, I gasp and say, "OH! Someone new! Oh please oh please oh please let them like the story..." And for ANY chapter, no matter how well the story is going, no matter how much that reviewer has liked my stuff in the past, when I see those reviews my heart jumps into my throat in anticipation/terror until my computer loads the page and I can read to see if they're positive or not. And each time I get a nice review, I breath a sigh of relief and grin gratefully, and think, "Oh thank God, they liked it. I wasn't crazy to hope they would like it." _

_So, now you know. That's my process. Please review and make my day. _

_Oh! I almost forgot. Finally, FINALLY, I'm using Sara Bareilles's "Gravity" in this chapter. You've had eons to look it up and listen, so. Maybe just refresh if you need to. _

* * *

Dean hunched over the bar, working on his seventh glass of Coke. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to be drunk off his ass, but. Well. Considering that drunkenness was part of what had caused his current predicament, he really didn't think it wise.

His phone buzzed with the sixteen millionth message from Sam. He didn't need to bother listening to it; he already knew it was the same as all the rest. _Dean, pick up your phone. _Where are you?_ I don't know what you did to Cas, but he's sitting at the library terrified that you're going to skip town, so stop being such a FRIGGIN' BABY and go talk to him. I'm going to the Jewelbox to hear Jen play at six. If you ever want to see the Impala again, you'll show up. PICK UP THE PHONE, DEAN!_

Still no messages from Cas, though.

And Sam was wrong, alright? It wasn't that Dean was afraid to face him, it was just that he honestly didn't know what he'd say. "Sorry you're hot for my body – let's just be friends"? "You were right, I didn't really want to know"? "It's okay Cas, we can start practicing picking up dudes if that's what you're into"?

Yeah. Right. No, it was better to wait for Cas to calm down and come back on his own.

It was this town, it had to be. It had to be something in the water here that was making them both crazy. The tequila and the Kahlua and the gin and scotch and whiskey had all flowed together, and they'd been drunk and horny and confused and signals got crossed, and – it could happen to anybody, right? They just needed to get a breath of fresh air, move on, pretend like it never happened. Suddenly skipping town was sounding like a better and better idea.

Not without Cas, of course. Dean was a little appalled that Cas could even consider that he'd do something like that (okay, so he _would_ do something like that, but like, to some crazy chick, not _Cas_). This wasn't Cas's fault, anyway. It was Dean's fault for not controlling himself, for getting so handsy and making Cas's intoxicated body respond that way. It was Dean's fault for dragging Cas out to that stupid party.

Dean drained his Coke and sighed. Well, if he wasn't going to get drunk, he might as well go meet this Jenny girl.

…..

"Where have you been?" Sam demanded. "Why aren't you picking up your phone?"

"The battery died," Dean lied. He took a second to check out Sam's date. She was wearing a hot little black number, her dark brown hair curled and done up with glittering pins, a big black plastic flower fastened to one side. Her fingernails were still green, though. Pale skin, big blue eyes, petite nose, full lips. She didn't have the rack that Kelsey had sported, but overall she looked pretty damn hittable. _Nice job, Sammy_. Dean gave her a cool smile and offered his hand. "You must be Jenny."

"Jen," she corrected. "And you're Sam's brother…"

"Dean," he supplied, shooting Sam a look. The kid hadn't even mentioned him by name?

And then Sam got his signature _Oh. Shit._ look, his face going slack and his eyebrows descending into a dead straight line over his widening eyes. Like Dean's name being said was some sort of cataclysmic accident he hadn't foreseen.

Weird and troubling. Dean was gonna have a talk with him later.

"Well, I better go start playing," Jen said, glancing at the piano in the corner. "Hopefully I'll get to know you better later tonight, Dean." She gave him a parting smile, and then she turned to Sam with a flirtatious smirk and said, "You too, Sam."

Sam turned bright red and gave a stuttering laugh, as if he were some awkward high school freshman who had never been hit on before. Or gotten laid, for that matter. What a geek.

The second that Jen was out of earshot, however, he was all over Dean's ass, dragging him to their table and sitting him down forcefully. "What the _hell_ have you been doing all day?" he hissed. "I _know_ your phone's not dead, Dean, and even if it was you should have goddamn _called_ –"

"You know what, Sam?" Dean cut him off, pulling his mouth into a sardonic smile. "Why don't you just go ahead and shut your big gaping piehole, because you're not my goddamn nanny and I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop pecking at me like a _gigantic frigging mother hen_."

"You can cut the bullshit!" Sam snapped. "God, Dean, it's one thing to blow _me_ off, but how do you not _see_ what you're doing to Cas?"

That stung. "You don't know _shit_ about me and Cas," Dean growled. "He _told_ me not to follow him."

And suddenly he got that feeling, that tingling on the back of his neck he got when he was being watched. He whipped around and, sure enough, at the back of the dimly lit lounge was a familiar face, blue eyes staring unnervingly, hands in his trenchcoat.

Dean whipped his head back to Sam. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Sam's chin jutted forward defiantly. "I invited him."

Oh, Christ. "Sam," Dean groaned, "this is not. Happening. Cas and I will sort things out, alright? But not here, and certainly not with you as some sorta goddamn _mediator_. There is a time and a place for –"

"When?" Sam interrupted. "Where? Face it, Dean, you're looking for any excuse to just sweep things under the rug and pretend everything's fine, and I _won't let you this time_, because Cas deserves a fuckton more than your bullshit denial routine –"

Jen started to play a soft, simple chord.

Sam exhaled heavily. "This isn't over," he muttered. "But I came to hear her play, so just sit. Listen. And don't fucking leave."

"_Somethin' always brings me back to you,_" she sang quietly. "_It never takes too long. No matter what I say or do, I still feel you here, 'til the moment I'm gone… _"

Dean looked back and saw Cas turning, walking away. Sam probably hadn't told him that Dean would be there, and now that he'd seen him, he was leaving.

It was probably for the best. There was no possible universe in which Dean would relish hashing out awkward sexual situations in front of his baby brother.

Still made Dean feel like shit, though.

_It's okay,_ he told himself. _Cas and I, we're gonna get through this, we're gonna figure this mess out and he'll see, it's nothing we can't get past, because I'll make it work, however it has to work. We don't have to go drinking anymore. He can get his own room. It'll work out._

_It has to work out. _

Jen finished the verse and crescendoed into the chorus. "_Se-et me freeeee, lea-ave me beeeee; I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravityyyyy. Here I aaaam, and I staaaand sooo tall, just the way I'm supposed to be. But you're onto me, and all over me…_"

She was really pretty good, if you were into that kind of music. There was this edge of wistful pain in her voice, bittersweet longing coloring her entire performance. Sam was rapt as hell; he hadn't so much as even glanced at Dean the entire song. He only had eyes for Jen. The sap.

Jen launched into the next verse a little louder, a little more powerful and cutting, and as Dean listened to the words, everything went quiet and clear and surreal.

"_You love me cuz I'm fragii-iile, when I thought that I was strong..." _

Dean's heart pounded loudly in his chest. He flashed back to that night.

Brilliant blue eyes, peering into Dean's, a small and personal smile.

"I remember the first moment I laid eyes on you."

_"But youuuuu touch me for a little whi-ile, and all my fragile strength is gone…_"

Cas's fingers on his arm, warm and electric.

"Cas, I need another drink..."_  
_

In burst of painful clarity, he understood what Cas had been trying to tell him.

Dean stood up from the table.

"Dean!" Sam hissed.

"Gotta go," he mumbled. "Nice chick, Sam." And he ran out the door, not caring whether Sam forgave him or not.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: _Oh, my sweet and awesome readers. Have I told you lately that I love you? Have I told you there's no one else above you? *bursts into song* You fill my heaaart with gladness! Take away ALL my sadness! Ease my troubles, thaaat's what you do..._

_*cough* Sorry, I was just so overwhelmed by your amazingness that I felt compelled to express myself in ballad form. _

_The beginning of this chapter rightly belongs at the end of the last chapter, so. If you feel like re-reading that chapter first to put yourself in the mindset, it'll probably flow better. I'm so sorry I couldn't squeeze it in to the last chapter; my perfectionist writer side of me is still beating up the no-worries side of me about it. I'll say nothing more about the chapter, other than... buckle up, heh heh heh. _

_So, as Le Fou and Gaston would say, "Lets. GOOOOOOOOOO!"_

* * *

Dean ran out of the Jewelbox, spotting the lone trenchcoated figure trudging his way down the street. "Cas!" he called. "Cas, wait up!"

Cas didn't wait up. He walked a little faster, even.

Dean caught up with him finally, just a little breathless. "Cas," he repeated, grabbing the man by his shoulder and spinning him around. "Stop. I wanna talk."

Cas looked mildly terrified, his eyes wide and pleading. "Dean, I'm sorry about what I said – I shouldn't have –"

"No," Dean interrupted him. "Don't apologize, okay, just… listen. I was in there, listening to Sam's girl playing and thinking about what you said and then I realized… " He took a deep breath, and he knew it wasn't just that sprint that was making his chest so tight, his pulse race so fast. "Last night. It. It wasn't just last night, was it?"

Cas was silent, avoiding Dean's gaze.

Dean swallowed hard, his heart beating in his throat. "A long time, huh?"

Cas didn't say a word.

Dean's fingers dug a little into Cas's shoulder, and his voice felt hoarse and tight. "How long, Cas?"

Cas looked into his eyes, and said the words Dean somehow knew he'd say. "I loved you from the very first moment."

Screw words. Dean didn't have words for what was happening inside of him right now. So instead, he did what came naturally: he grabbed Cas by both shoulders and kissed the living daylights out of him.

_I don't know when it started for me, Cas, but it wasn't just last night. It just took me until now to figure out what it _was.

Cas's hands came up to clutch Dean's lapels, dragging him even closer, kissing Dean back like he'd been waiting his whole goddamn life to do it.

...

Sam had half a mind to murder Dean.

The guy disappears for hours, doesn't answer his calls, eyeballs his girl – no, crap, Jen's not Sam's _girl_, not really, not yet, but still – and then, after Sam expressly tells him not to leave, he literally _runs out of the restaurant_ in the middle of her song. What. A. Douche.

The only thing Dean _couldn't _be blamed for was that Sam had neglected to mention the fact that Jen knew their last name was Winchester, and so Dean had given his real first name. Now if Jen chanced to Google Sam, there was going to be absolutely no denying that they were the same reputedly dead Winchester brothers who had allegedly terrorized their way across America. The grave-desecrating, devil-worshipping, FBI-impersonating, jail-breaking serial killers known as Sam and Dean Winchester. _It was all a big misunderstanding?_ Sam tried weakly in his mind. _Yeah, we dug up those corpses, but for a good reason? We actually did die a couple times, but we got better? Demons did it?_

Alright, so there was a strong possibility they were going to have to flee town at some point.

But that was beside the point. The point was, Dean was an asshole.

Right after her song ended, Jen excused herself from the piano and hastily made her way towards Sam. Not a good sign. She was _supposed _to play for the next hour. Sam began preparing to shower her in apologies, explanations, and expensive gifts.

"Jen, I am _so_ sorry," he began earnestly as soon as she reached the table. "Dean just got a call, and it was an emergency with our friend Bobby, and he's getting on in years–"

She grabbed Dean's chair and quickly dragged it closer to Sam, seating herself at his elbow. "Sam," she interrupted, low and urgent. "I need you to stop talking, and listen to me carefully. Look at me and act like everything's normal."

_What the hell?_ Sam schooled his shocked face into an expression that said, "Oh, you _are_ right about the weather."

"I don't have time to explain," she continued hurriedly, gaze flickering to somewhere behind Sam, "but if you're the person that I _know you are_, you'll trust me when I say that we have to get out of here. Now."

Sam's heart seemed to slam into his ribcage. She knew, she knew who he was, and what was worse – she seemed to know a lot more than that_. I _knew _it was too good to be true. She's too good to be true._

Suddenly Jen blanched, going white as a sheet, and her fingers clawed into Sam's arm.

"Hi, my name's Melissa, and I'll be serving you today," a voice behind him chirped. The blonde waitress moved to where he could see her and took out a leather-bound notepad. "Can I get you two something to drink?" She smiled sunnily, like she really wanted a big tip.

Maybe it was the residue still lingering in his system; maybe it was years of pounded-in hunting instinct. Maybe it was the way Jen's face struggled to remain blank, but those bright green fingernails bit even harder into his skin. But for some reason, a ball of deadly certainty weighed in the pit of Sam's stomach, and he whispered, "Christo."

Melissa's eyes went black.

…...

Dean and Cas kissed like they were they were the last two violinists on the Titanic, and their options were lock lips or drown.

Someone in the distance wolf-whistled. Dean would have flipped them off, but he was a little preoccupied. Finally they parted lips for a moment, both gasping for air. "Motel," Dean panted. "Let's continue this discussion at the motel."

Cas nodded like he agreed, but then he slid a hand around to the nape of Dean's neck and pulled him back in for another kiss, and didn't show any signs of stopping.

A fire alarm went off in a nearby building. If Dean hadn't been so busy trying to make up for all the stupid, stupid times he'd stupidly _not _kissed Cas, he'd have laughed his ass off. _Hot, hot, hot,we're settin' off smoke detectors over here…_

Down the street, a crowd of people spilled out of the lounge. It only took a second to make out the tenor of panic in their noise.

_Goddamn it_, Dean thought with a sinking heart. Sam was in there. And the chances of it being a simple kitchen fire when a Winchester was around? Pretty damn slim. Dean broke away from Cas with a groan, his lips suddenly all too cold. "C'mon, Cas," he sighed. "I have a feeling we've got some damage control to do."

Cas looked just as disappointed as Dean felt, but he nodded. "We should get some weapons."

"Shit!" Dean cursed, remembering. "Sam has the keys to the Impala!" He chewed his lip, considering. He could break into his baby, but… he'd scratch her all up… and who knew where the hell she was parked…

Cas cocked his head, a slight smile playing along his (still reddened) lips. "A total lack of preparedness has never stopped us from rushing in before."

Dean grinned wildly, the heady rush of Cas's kiss still pumping through his veins. "C'mon then, Sundance. Let's get this show on the road."

…...

As Melissa slammed him into yet another wall, Sam wondered why he was such an idiot.

Of course he'd gone and exposed himself right from the get-go, before he could get any weapons or find Cas and Dean or even get Jen to safety. The demon had sneered, "Sam Winchester. I've heard so much about you," before tackling him right there on the table. It had been all Sam could do to bark, "Jen! Pull the fire alarm!" and trust that he could keep the demon busy long enough that everyone would get out.

Maybe Jen was a fellow hunter. That could work out. But then why wouldn't she have just said so?

Melissa blocked his punch and returned it with a sharp blow to his right cheekbone, bringing him back into the present moment.

The first minute or so of their struggle had caused quite a ruckus, but then the fire alarm went off and everyone panicked and hurried out of the lounge, leaving them to their own devices. Later, the police would probably say it was some sort of gas leak, and the entire thing was some mass hallucination brought on by carbon monoxide poisoning. The only part of the story they would get right is that the alarm had probably saved everyone's lives.

Sam got in a good knee to the gut before Melissa flipped him onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.

_Shit shit shit._ Time was that Sam wouldn't even have to sneeze at a lone demon and it was on its way back to hell. This was probably the worst part about his addiction; remembering what it felt like to have that kind of power, and then realizing how incredibly weak he was without it. He needed the Colt. What he wouldn't give to have the Colt nestled in the waistband of his jeans right now…

"Sammy!" someone shouted over the alarm.

Dean, oh thank God Dean was here. Melissa kicked him savagely in the ribs, and Sam felt one crack, but he used the opportunity to snatch her foot and yank it out from under her.

If Sam had been a little quicker, or if Dean had been a little bit closer, that would have been the end of it. They could have held her down together and knocked her out cold, drawn a devil's trap and exorcised her. But Sam's rib was cracked, and Dean was still pretty far away, and lightning fast she was back up on her feet. "C'mon, Winchester," she taunted. "You pushed Big Mike and Lucy into the cage. Surely you can do better than that."

"What do the fuck do you _want?_" Sam spat, struggling to his feet, blood flecking from his split lip.

"Your head on a stick," she cackled, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

That was when Dean and Cas tackled her from behind, dragging her off of Sam and nearly bringing her down. Unfortunately, the bar was right behind her, and she heaved herself backwards and slammed them into the sharp countertop, loosening their grips. She yanked free and kicked Cas squarely in the solar plexus, doubling him over; she picked up Dean and threw him over the bar, sending him crashing head-first into the shelves of glass bottles. With barely a glance, she picked up a chair and broke it on the once-again-upright Cas, knocking him soundly unconscious.

She returned to Sam, grinning diabolically even as blood dripped down from her nose and into her mouth. He put up a struggle, but she knew exactly where that broken rib was, and somehow she ended up with her thumbs over his windpipe as he wrenched her wrists back to suck precious gasps of air. He knew from the short work she'd made of Dean and Cas that the only reason it had gone on this long was because she wanted it that way. She wanted him to die slow.

"Let him go," a female voice ordered.

Jen. Jesus, Jen was still here.

Melissa's lip curled upward into a sneer. "Oh look, it's Madame Cleo come to save you." She spun Sam around, fixing a strong hand on his throat, pressing her fingers savagely inwards. "Isn't it cute?"

Jen was walking slowly but surely towards them, clutching the Colt in two slightly trembling hands and pointing it at Melissa. "I said let him go," she snarled, face tight and drawn, "and get the _fuck_ out of that body."

_The Colt. How the HELL does she have the Colt? _

"You don't have the nerve," Melissa challenged, narrowing her eyes. "You might hit loverboy here." And she pulled Sam farther in front of her.

Twin spots of color rose on Jen's cheeks. She planted herself, levelled the Colt, and pulled back the hammer. "Wanna bet?"

Melissa smirked, her eyes black and cold.

"Jen," Sam croaked. "Shoot."

Without warning Melissa's mouth flew open, and jet of black smoke billowed out and disappeared towards the ceiling.

She slumped unconscious, and Sam almost let her drop unceremoniously to the ground before thinking, _Oh yeah, she's a person, might not want to break her_. He lowered her down gently and shiiiiiit that made his rib stab him.

Jen slumped into one of the few remaining unbroken chairs, hands shaking uncontrollably as she set the Colt on the table. "I was bluffing," she whispered weakly. "I've never shot a gun in my life."

Sam hobbled over to her. "Would you care to explain how you got ahold of that, then?" he inquired in a scratchy voice.

Her chin quivered, her eyes big and guilty, and she replied, "I slipped the keys out of your pocket, and I got it from your car."

"_My_ car," Dean called from across the room, staggering up from behind the bar. "It's my car. My keys."

She stared at the Colt warily. "What is it? Some kind of holy gun?"

Sam breathed a little too hard, and winced. "How did you know to get it if you _don't know what it is?_" he demanded.

Jen turned her eyes up to him, face full of dread.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and Dean grunted as he hefted Cas's limp body over his shoulder. "C'mon, Sam," he groaned. "We'll talk about it later, we gotta split."

Sam stood, eyes locked on hers.

"Sam." She swallowed nervously. "I'm a psychic."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: _I really do love you guys. And I'm talking "I would donate my blood if you were in a car accident" love. Which, as we know, is the greatest love of all (unless you talk to Whitney Houston). And since I love you, you get - surprise! Extra long chapter! Woo hoo! Also, Mr. Rogers._

_Now, for those of you who were unlucky enough to grow up without Mr. Rogers, I found a recording of one of his more famous songs that you can listen to if you want. I have to write the URL funny because the HTML won't let me write web addresses, but it's at http:(slash)(slash)pbskids(dot)org/rogers/songLyricsManyWays(dot)html. When I was looking for the recording, I happened upon a bunch of quotes, and I swear. He must have the most well-adjusted kids. Everything he says is simple, but so true, and I've decided that the Winchesters would have grown up with much fewer issues if they'd only been listening to this guy. The following quote in particular I wish Dean could have heard:_

_"You know, the toughest thing is to love somebody who has done something mean to you - especially when that somebody has been yourself. Have you ever done anything mean to yourself? Well it's very important to look inside yourself and find that loving part of you. That's the part that you must take good care of and _never_ be mean to. Because that's the part of you that allows you to love your neighbor. And your neighbor is anyone you happen to be with at any time in your life. Respecting and loving your neighbor can give everybody a good feeling."_

_I love Mr. Rogers. _

_Oh, also, the boys' aliases are a Van Halen reference. The band was made up of David Lee Roth, Alex Van Halen, Eddie Van Halen, and Wolfgang Van Halen. Just so you know. ;)  
_

* * *

There was some shouting in the Impala. There would have been more shouting if Sam's rib wasn't broken; he had to settle for an incredulous tone.

"Psychic?" he demanded. "How long? Like, recently? Since you turned twenty-two?"

"My whole life!" Jen responded exasperatedly from the back seat, an unconscious Castiel draped over her lap. "My whole life I've been psychic! Not a _good_ psychic, okay? I don't hear your thoughts unless they're really obvious or I'm really listening, WHICH I haven't been, just so you know!"

"Someone shut up and check Cas's pulse!" Dean snapped. "I'm trying to drive!"

Jen obligingly laid two fingers on Cas's neck, looking nervous. "Uh, what exactly am I checking here?"

"Does he still _have one?_" Dean asked testily.

"Yes."

"Then we're good!"

"So, what _can_ you do?" Sam resumed. Yeah, yeah, they were all pretty thoroughly tenderized; that was business as usual. It was this psychic thing that had him worried.

Jen shrugged. "I can tell if someone's lying, I can see to their true nature and intent, I can eavesdrop on someone's thoughts. Occasionally I'll get a vision or prophetic dream, but it's only happened a few times in my life. I can see and talk to spirits, and basically anything else from the other side. I saw that demon in the restaurant. I can tell that your friend here has gotten mixed up in something really weird."

"He used to be an angel," Sam informed her.

Her eyes bugged out. "That's a new one. That explains… things."

"You've never seen an angel?" he inquired.

Jen shook her head. "Not in the flesh. I've heard a lot about them lately, with the whole apocalypse thing." She looked down at Cas and started to undo his tie. "I've heard about you guys, and what you had to do with it."

"Yeah, well, hunters are bunch of freakin' gossips," Sam retorted.

She gingerly slid Cas's tie from beneath his collar. "Especially the dead ones," she whispered.

That shut Sam up.

"Don't worry, I… I'm an excellent judge of character," she continued with a half-hearted smile. "Psychic, remember? So I know that you. You didn't mean to start it. And I'm betting you were a big part of finishing it. But there are a lot of angry, hurt people looking for answers and… you really shouldn't go around telling strange girls your real name."

"You told her your _real name?_" Dean asked incredulously. "And check his pulse again!"

"Dude, she's psychic!" Sam protested. "It wouldn't have made a difference!"

"Yeah, but_ you_ didn't know that," Dean countered.

"Yup, he's alive!" Jen confirmed.

"Good," Dean grumbled.

"How'd you know about the Colt?" Sam continued.

"When her eyes went black, it was like your mind was screaming it," Jen answered. "You were going, 'The Colt, the Colt! The Colt is in the trunk and I need it! The Colt! I need to get my keys and get the Colt!' and there was this crystal clear image of exactly what it looked like. I reached into your pocket just in time, because then she tackled you, and I pulled the alarm and ran out to the parking lot and searched for it in the trunk. And you were there for the rest."

And then Sam saw that they were pulling up towards the hospital, and he balked. "Dean, what are you doing? Please, let's just go back to the motel and get taped up," he whined.

Dean threw the Impala into park and turned to Sam, fixing him with a livid glare that would cow archangels. It didn't help that his face was bleeding from a hundred tiny cuts. "_Listen_, you gigantic friggin' bag of rocks," he growled. "Somebody just _smashed a chair_ on Cas and he won't wake up. _You_ have a broken rib that is probably puncturing your lung as we speak. We are going. To. The fucking. E. _R_."

"Well," Sam mumbled, "when you put it _that_ way…"

Jen ducked her head and hid a smile.

…

Cas got seen pretty quick, since he was unconscious and all, and luckily Dean had had the foresight to make IDs for this kind of emergency. According to their papers, they were the three Roth brothers, Alex, Eddie, and Wolfgang (two guesses as to which one Dean had stuck Sam with). Wolfgang, unfortunately, only had a seriously messed-up face and a broken rib, so he had to wait quite awhile. While they waited, Jen talked.

Dean and Sam got her whole life story, starting from the age of three when her imaginary friend turned out to be her dead crazy French-Canadian great-grandmother (who had hidden a bunch of Depression-era keepsakes in a crawlspace and really wanted her granddaughter to have them), and ending with her nearly falling off of a five-story building at ASU, drunkenly shouting, "It's okay, I'm PSYCHIC, and a HOT FIREFIGHTER is gonna save me!" (Luckily, one did. But not too long thereafter, she quit school and moved far, far away.) After her autobiography, she launched into several funny anecdotes about her Auntie Darla, who was psychic too but also a little nuts.

Sam saw what she was trying to do. She was trying to distract Sam from his injuries and distract Dean from Cas, and she was doing a pretty good job of it. All her stories were light-hearted and amusing; Sam could tell when she edited herself or played things off as not that bad, like when she mentioned "and that's when it kinda hit me that I could never be normal, not really, and things got depressing there for awhile… but then I redecorated my apartment, and guys. You will be _so_ disgusted by it. It's bright, and there's ruffles, and posters of kittens, and cutesy knick-knacks everywhere… It's impossible to stay sad in that apartment. It's too ridiculous to properly brood in. I try and weep into my pillow, and then I realize that my pillow is shaped like a dinosaur, and I just can't help but laugh."

Then the doctor came and talked to them about Cas. He'd had a concussion, a minor head injury, and though he'd been unconscious, he didn't appear to have suffered severe damage. He'd woken up, but he'd had some disorientation and had to be sedated. Things looked promising; the probability of full recovery was good. Yes, Dean was allowed to go see him, even though he was still sleeping.

After Dean left with the doctor, Sam realized something. "Jen, how did you end up getting dragged to the emergency room?"

"Well, we were having a discussion," Jen explained. "And you guys had to go, so… I just came with you."

"You don't have to stay here," Sam pointed out, smiling (and then wincing, because he'd forgotten about his lip). "I can give you some money for a cab if you need it."

"Well, I don't mind keeping you company." She smiled back, and shifted in the hard plastic chair to lean closer to him, pulled his arm into her lap and put her slender hand in his big one, twining their fingers together. "Beats going on a date, that's for sure."

Sam squeezed her hand, and warm affection for this awesome girl washed over him. "Jen," he said, "I would kiss you right now, but my face is mincemeat. I have a feeling I would regret it."

Jen sighed dramatically. "Yes, but that's besides the point. I think we both know that I wouldn't want to be seen kissing you when you're not at your very prettiest. I'm very superficial, you know."

"Really?" Sam played along. "I hadn't noticed."

"Well, you hardly know me," she told him archly. "I'm quite shallow. You're lucky you're so handsome or I wouldn't allow you to be seen with me in public so often. But now you've gone and mashed up your face, so… I'll probably ask the doctor to wrap your head up entirely with bandages so I don't have to look at it until it heals."

Sam bowed his head. "'Swhat I deserve, I guess," he mumbled glumly, "mashing my face on people's fists…" And then he turned his gaze to her and fixed her with his saddest, most pathetic puppy-eyed face.

She held a disapproving frown on him for a long moment, and then broke, laughing and covering her eyes with her free hand. "Damn it, Sam, I _know_ you're just kidding, but you're waaaay too good at that face. Even with the swelling."

Then the nurse finally came and got Sam, and their hands slid apart, but then Jen walked with him down the corridor and put a reassuring hand on his elbow, like she knew that being in the hospital made him just a little on edge because hospitals were where Winchesters went to die. And oh yeah, she was psychic, so she probably _did_ know that.

Then he was x-rayed and assured that it was just one fracture, he wasn't going to get flail chest or a punctured lung, got taped up and got prescriptions for pain meds, went to the pharmacy and bought the drugs. And then it was time for Sam to go find Dean and drag him back to the motel and make him get some sleep, and for Jen to take a cab and retrieve her car from the Jewelbox parking lot.

"Before you go," Sam started, putting a hand on her shoulder, "we need to talk. Because, with this whole demon thing, Dean and Cas and I kinda need to go to ground, at least for a little while, and." His heart thudded in his chest, and he wondered if he was being stupidly impulsive again but _damn it_, that was the way she made him feel, like she was seconds away from falling out of his reach and she was _worth diving for_. "I know we've only known each other for 72 hours, but I'd really like to see you again, so if we could – work something out…"

Jen reached up to smooth his collar, not quite meeting his eyes. "Sam," she said quietly. "It's like this. I know that right now, you _think_ you're okay with the psychic thing. But…"

"But what?" Sam asked softly.

"I don't want you to jump into anything." She rested her hand on his chest, finally brought her blue eyes up to his. "I like you, Sam. And I can see this turning into something, something good, something I could put my whole heart into and… I've been burned before. I don't want you to suddenly realize later down the line that you were never really comfortable with me being – psychic." She bit the inside of her lip, and lowered her eyes again. "So let's give it a week, okay? Take a week to think about it. On Saturday, come to a decision, and if you decide you want to – to give it a try, just give me a call. And if not…" She shrugged casually.

Sam didn't need to wait a week. Okay, so she was a psychic. That was _kinda_ weird. He'd dated much weirder women in his lifetime. But he could see that this was important to Jen, and so he said, "Alright. But if I'm not going to see you for a week, I need to give you this first." And he tilted her chin up and kissed her, because screw it, the meds were kicking in and the swelling had gone down anyways.

It was a slow kiss, soft and gentle, nothing like their first one. If it was painful, Sam didn't notice.

All too soon Jen was breathing, "Goodbye, Sam," and walking away.

…..

Castiel woke up the next morning feeling like he'd been run over by a dump truck, and then said dump truck had shifted into reverse and run him over again. The hardest thing about being human was the constant infliction of pain; one merely had to misplace their footing and they were ungraciously introduced to a world of agony. He started to sit up, and then changed his mind at the sharp protestations of his back. Lying down was fine.

The room was blindingly white, and smelling faintly of antiseptic; a hospital, Castiel surmised. The tubes and needles stuck invasively into his body confirmed his supposition. Dean was slumped in a chair by his bedside, fast asleep. Dozens of nicks and scratches were scattered across his face, the result of shards of glass raining down on him, but he didn't appear to be otherwise seriously injured. Castiel was relieved; the last he remembered, Dean had gone flying into a shelf. Oh, and Sam had been in bad straits as well, but if Dean was here by Castiel, Sam couldn't be too badly injured.

The television in the corner played quietly, tuned into a children's program that Castiel recognized, "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood." Neither Winchester thought much of Mr. Rogers, so it must have been left on accidentally. The remote was inconveniently cradled loosely in Dean's hand.

Mr. Rogers began to sing. "_There are many ways to say I love you. There are many ways to say I care about you. Many ways, many ways, many ways, to say… I love you._"

Dean's face was smooth in sleep, looking younger than his years. His body was folded into the chair in a position that had to be uncomfortable, his denim jacket pulled tight around him; his cheek was pressed into his left shoulder, neck craned awkwardly in the absence of a pillow, and tucked under his right arm was a box of cocoa.

Many ways, indeed.

Mr. Rogers finished listing examples of the ways in which one could display one's affection, and returned to the chorus. "_You'll find many ways to say I love you. You'll find many ways to understand what love is. Many ways, many ways, many ways to say…. I love you._"

Castiel had always known that Dean cared about him, but he'd also known Dean very well. He'd feared that the man would never be able to accept Castiel as anything other than a friend simply because of his deeply entrenched ideas about the way men should act and the kinds of people they were allowed to love. And the look on Dean's face when Castiel had first admitted (tactlessly) how he felt… he had been certain that he'd gone too far, and that Dean would never be able to look at him the same way. He'd been sure that he'd lost his only true friend in the world and the closest thing he had to a family these days.

Castiel had never been happier that he was wrong.

He remembered the way his previous hospital bed had worked, and he fiddled with the buttons until it had levered into a more upright position. Much better. Now, all he needed was some Vicodin or Percocet, maybe some OxyContin…

Dean woke up with a snort and a yawn. He blinked a couple times and then froze. "Cas?" he asked tentatively.

"Dean," Cas replied.

His face split into a grin. "Oh thank fuck, you're okay!"

Castiel snorted. "Yes, thank fuck."

"They made me leave last night before you woke up, and they were saying you might have 'short term amnesia' and shit like that. By the way, your name is Alex Roth, and I'm your brother Eddie," Dean informed him. "You had a pretty bad concussion, but the doctors don't think there's gonna be any permanent damage." Then he noticed the television. "What the hell are you watching?"

"You have the remote," Castiel pointed out.

Dean looked down at his lap and saw that it was true. "Huh." He turned off the TV and returned the remote to Castiel's bedside table. "I think it was a cooking show when I fell asleep. Oh yeah, and I brought your favorite." He pulled the cocoa box from under his arm, and shook it with a salesman's smile. "_With_ mini marshmallows."

"Thank you." Castiel _did _love the marshmallows.

"And. Uh." Dean scratched the back of his neck. "Right before everything got – busy – I was sorta having an epiphany an' everything, about you. And me." He hunched forward in his chair and clasped his hands, and then stared at them. "Us."

Castiel nodded, uncertain of where he was going with this.

"And, uh. I don't wanna say too much, since we're 'brothers' and all, and," Dean glanced around the empty hospital room, chuckling, "this is probably the_ least_ romantic location of all time, but. I just wanted to say that." His adam's apple bobbed. "I liked where things were going, there. So, if that could be a regular thing." He cleared his throat. "I'd. I'd probably vote yes on that."

Castiel smiled, and for a minute he forgot how much he hurt all over. "So would I."

Dean stood up and looked around the room once more, furtively peering out the door, and then muttered, "You know what? This'll just take a second." And then he bent down and kissed Castiel hard and quick.

It wasn't nearly enough. But it would do for now.

Dean pulled back and murmured under his breath, "And there's more where that came from."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: _So, this chapter is once again a bit shorter than usual, but I think the next chapter is going to be a longer one, and I was just so stoked by you guys' FANTABULAWESOME reviews that I couldn't resist rushing this to you. It contains some fanservice, folks. As in, it gets a little _steamaayyy_. Not that it's superfluous or anything, I personally think that it's pretty necessary after all the crazy sexual tension that's been floating around for the last several chapters, but I definitely hope you guys will appreciate it. _

_Feel free to contradict me and knock me down a peg, of course. :P You can write a review berating me for delving into mindless smut. The point is, you have to write a _review_. And that means I've already won. *steeples fingers and chuckles evilly* _

_Also, this chapter marks my _first ever_ double-digit-chapter fanfic! AND it is officially longer than Troubled Water, making it officially (OFFICIALLY!) the longest fanfic I've ever written. The only thing I've ever written that's longer is a piece of my own fiction that I did during National Novel Writing Month last year. So thanks for sticking in here with me, guys. You're the best readership anyone could ask for. I heart you. _

* * *

The doctors decided to keep Cas overnight again for observation, and eventually Sam and Cas persuaded Dean that he could leave Cas alone in the hospital for one night (but it wasn't easy). Evidently, Dean and Cas had made up – but Sam wasn't sure exactly what kind of understanding they'd come to. And, as weird as the whole thing was, he was kinda dying to know. He'd have to corner Cas and ask him about it later; right now, his main priority was to drag Dean back to the motel and make some hex bags.

So they made a buttload of hex bags, and they moved hotels, and then they went to dinner. Both the Winchesters were subdued; Sam's meds were making him drowsy, and if he admitted it to himself, the whole "one week" thing was getting him down a little. Dean was just as quiet, although for different reasons. Their booth in the diner was too wide, too big – it wasn't built for two. It was palpable that someone was missing.

They sat in silence as they waited for their food.

"So…" Sam began, racking his brain for anything besides Cas to talk about. "I know you've been running games on me, Dean."

Dean looked morally outraged by the accusation, which was a telltale sign that Sam was right. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Sam smirked. "Okay, so I admit that I fell for it at first. But please, Dean. Even someone as dense as you knows I would never go for that Kelsey chick."

Dean got a far-off dreamy look. "Boy, did she have an amazing rack, though…"

"It was smart to use Cas," Sam admitted. "That was what fooled me. I mean, he really sold his bit, too. I didn't know he could lie like that."

Dean grinned. "Hey, he learned from the best. And admit it, Sam – it worked, didn't it? You met that piano girl, didn't you?"

As painful as it was to admit it, Dean was right; it _had_ worked. Sam probably wouldn't have thrown himself at Jen if he hadn't been trying to get Dean off his back, trying to assuage Dean's brotherly neediness. "You're still a friggin' manipulative asshole," Sam groused.

"Aw, you know you love it," Dean retorted, smirking.

Sam kicked him under the table, and Dean swiftly kicked him back.

"So what do you think of Jen?" Sam asked innocently, sipping his coffee.

The waitress brought over their food, and Dean dug into his burger for a minute before swallowing and answering. "She seems pretty cool, Sammy. She's cute, she's funny, she's a musician, so, a little screwy. Talks a lot. But she seems very… what's the word… adjusted. Very well adjusted." He took another bite. "But then again, she's psychic, so that means you won't get away with shit."

Sam glared. "Unlike_ some_ people," he responded sharply, "I wouldn't be trying to get away with shit in the first place."

"Dude. Relax. It's a joke." Dean eyeballed him. "What's with you, huh? Since when do you care what I think of the chicks you bang?"

"It's not like that," Sam snapped.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right, I forgot, you're Sammy the Celibate. Figures. What's your game plan then, you gonna take her to the dance and ask her to go steady?"

Sam picked at his salad, carefully studying the lettuce leaves. "Kinda, yeah."

Dean's chewing slowed.

"I wanted to ask you if… well, she wants me to wait a week before we commit to anything, but." Sam felt his cheeks grow warm. "Dean, I really like this girl. And I know you hate being tied down to any one place, but – a woman like her. God, Dean, she's special, and she knows about us, she knows about hunters, I won't have to lie to her all the time… I'm not going to meet another woman like her again. And I haven't felt this way about anybody since –" _Since Jess_. But those last couple of words refuse to come out of his mouth. "– a long time. And if we could stay… even just within the state…"

Dean put down his burger. "Sam." His voice had lost that mocking edge, and he looked at Sam with serious, intent eyes. "There's a reason I was trying to set you up now, of all times. I know you, and I know how much you hate having to pick up and leave, and I _want_…" He cleared his throat, rotated his jaw. "I want you to be able to stay somewhere. To make connections. So yeah, we should probably leave town for a few weeks until the demon thing blows over, but after that." He smiled. "I don't see why not."

Sam was so relieved that he could float away. This was going to make things so much easier. He'd been worried that Dean would put up a fuss, that he'd have to get his own car so he could drive back to see Jen, that they were going to have another Winchester schism on their hands (not that Sam would choose Jen over Dean, but if Dean forced him to choose, he sure as hell wouldn't make things _easy_ on Dean). Instead, everything was going to work out just peachy keen happily ever after.

Then Dean took a drink of his beer and looked out the window and asked, "So, what do you think of Cas?"

Sam frowned, confused. "What do you mean, what do I think of him?"

"Well." Dean was turning a deep shade of crimson now, and carefully looking everywhere but at Sam. "You asked me what I think of Jen, and now I'm asking you what you think of Cas."

A lightbulb went on over Sam's head.

So Dean had finally, _finally_ gotten a clue. About. Fucking. TIME. But this was a delicate situation, one that required finesse and tact and honesty, not brotherly noogies and endless ridicule. That would come later. So Sam responded carefully (and sincerely), "You know I like Cas. He's weird sometimes, but he's a really good guy."

Dean smiled a little. "Yeah, I know."

"And… he cares about you, a lot." Sam lowered his voice, hoping that Dean could hear how much he meant it. "He loves you, Dean. And I think you'd have to be an idiot not to love him back."

Dean met Sam's eyes, and swallowed. Then suddenly his smirking cock-of-the-walk mask slid into place, and he picked up his burger and took a huge bite, mumbling around his food, "Good thing I'm not an idiot, then."

"_Christ_, Dean," Sam exclaimed, "I'm trying to eat here! I don't need you spraying cheeseburger chunks all over my salad."

Dean grinned wide and open-mouthed to give Sam a full view of his half-masticated dinner.

"Oh my GOD," Sam muttered, stabbing his salad. "I swear to God, you're ten years old."

Dean snorted. "Bitch."

Sam bit back a smile. "Jerk."

…..

A week later, Dean and Cas were in the basement of a university library, allegedly doing some research on alternative exorcism rituals or some shit like that.

"So, Cas," Dean murmured, all low and sexy-like in Cas's ear. He loved how libraries gave him an excuse to do that. He pressed up against Cas's back, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me. What is it that you like so much about libraries?"

Cas seemed unmoved by Dean's sexy-voice, still reading the spines of the books on the shelf. "The silence," he answered, pulling a book out and flipping through it. "The tranquility. It's like being in a church… a sanctuary."

Dean chuckled. "Bet no one ever did _this _to you in a church." And he bent his head and kissed along the side of Cas's neck, grazing lightly with his teeth.

Cas inhaled sharply, and the book in his hand wobbled dangerously, but when he replied his voice was carefully even. "No, no one has."

Oh, so _that's_ how this was gonna go. Dean was going to have to step up his game, then. He put his hands to Cas's waist and got some tongue action going on his neck, along the corner of his jaw, rhythmically rocked his hips ever so slightly into Cas's…

The book dropped from Cas's hands, and he fell forward just a little as he fumbled to clutch the bookshelf in front of him, his eyes fluttering closed. "Dean," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I can't… aah… I can't think when you do that."

Dean chuckled evilly. "I know." One of his hands slid forward to grope Cas lewdly.

Suddenly Cas spun around, and before Dean realized it, it was _his_ back pressed against the opposite shelf, Cas's breath ghosting over his ear. "Are you seriously planning on fucking me right here in the library?" Cas whispered roughly, his hips grinding savagely into Dean's. "Because you can't do that to me and _not_ fuck me."

And Dean would have made a snappy comeback, he really would have, except he was so goddamn turned on that his brain short-circuited and it was all he could do to bite the inside of his cheek and hold in the noisy moan that was welling up inside of him. He kissed Cas desperately and let him slide one leg between his, one hand clawing at Cas's back because ungh goddamn it closer he needed him _closer _and Cas's mouth moved down to the underside of his jaw, nipping gently and Dean's other hand snaked up to run through Cas's hair, press his mouth down _harder _he needed it _harder_ and ohhh fuck Dean wasn't going to be able to stand it much longer –

"Um. Hey."

Dean opened his eyes.

A blushing red-headed chick stood there meekly, clutching a few books to her chest protectively. "I hate to. Uh. Interrupt, but. You guys can't do that here."

Cas dislodged himself from Dean (_nooooo_ Dean's body cried) and stared at the girl. "You're the woman who gave me tissues."

She blushed even redder. "Yes, I'm Hannah, and I work here on the weekends."

His lips curved upwards just a little, a barely-there smile. "Thank you again. Things did work out for me."

Hannah giggled embarrassedly, glancing at Dean. "I gathered."

Dean straightened his collar and glared a little; he was mad that she'd interrupted, but apparently she'd given Cas tissues or something last weekend. Cas would be pissed if he told her to go fly a kite. Too bad; she looked like the kind of girl who was easily intimidated. They probably could have gotten away with it.

"We're leaving now," Cas told her. "Aren't we, Dean?"

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, princess," he muttered.

Hannah smiled nervously and shifted her stack of books. "Well. Okay then. Nice to meet you… I guess…"

And Cas blinked. "I'm Castiel, and this is Dean."

"Oh." Hannah smiled a little brighter. "Castiel, Dean. I'd shake hands, but…" She shrugged her shoulders to indicate the books in her arms.

Cas nodded, and then headed to the elevator. Dean shot Hannah an insincere smile and a nod, and followed suit.

"You wanna try another library?" Dean muttered to Cas on their way out the door.

Castiel's lips curved upwards again, this time a little more wickedly. "Yes."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: _This, my sweets, is the last chapter. I know, I know; you weep, you lament, you cry out to the heavens, asking, "Why? Why must the story come to a conclusion? Cannot we simply have chapter after chapter of Dean and Cas doing naughty things to each other?" I'm sorry, my pets, but this is not that story. I'm ever so pleased that you liked my previous chapter, and your reviews were like ambrosia and nectar to me. You are the kindest of reviewers, and you give me confidence to write more stories about boys necking._

_The other piece of news I have is this: I'm taking a break from fanfiction. I have some of my own fiction that I promised a friend I would write this summer, and I've been putting it off to get all my slash out of my system. I actually kind of planned this story as a dry run; I figured that if I could get a bunch of Dean/Cas fans to like an OFC for _Sam_, then I was ready to write my own fiction, ha ha. This story has taken me waaaay longer than I anticipated, and I really need to get on my own story. Once I'm done with that, I'll probably resume my slash, but I have to warn you. If the new season starts or is very close to starting when I finish, I'll probably wait until we get a few episodes in to start anything. I'd like to start with the current canon storyline, and I want to know what the hell is going on with Sam and what the Cas situation will look like. So... this could be the last time you hear from me for a long while, folks._

_That being said, I want to thank you guys. You're an awesome, awesome, supportive bunch of readers, and it's been a pleasure to write for you. I can't tell you how gratifying it is to write something knowing that someone wants to read it, and then to hear afterwards that they really did like it. You've allowed me to grow a lot as a writer and prompted me to write things I didn't even know I could write. Thank you._

_Finally, how could this chapter be complete without another song? This one is a oldie classic, "Make it With You," by Bread. Listening to it will greatly enhance your reading enjoyment, since it's a the kind of song that I adore but would make Dean would roll his eyes and intone, "Gaaaaaaaaay." _

* * *

Sam waited at the Highline on a Saturday night, drumming the side of his leg nervously. He'd texted Jen and asked her to meet him here at seven, and it was five minutes after the hour right now. What if she'd just been trying to think of a good way to blow him off? What if she didn't really want to deal with all Sam's crap? What if she'd been _hoping _that he'd be weirded out by the psychic thing? What if she didn't show up?

God, there were about a million and two reasons for her not to show up.

Then the door opened, and in breezed Jen. She was wearing black capris and a purple t-shirt with smiling cartoon peas on it that read "Give Peas a Chance." Her hair was pinned with that same blue barrette, but now her fingernails were neon pink. She sat down at the bar and ordered a drink, looking around and tapping those pink nails.

Maybe it was just because he hadn't seen her for a week, but Sam was struck by how pretty she really was, in a subtle and unobtrusive way. Her dark hair framed her pale, delicate face and brought out those vivid blue eyes, and she carried herself with certainty and grace. He couldn't believe he'd once thought that she wasn't rare; everything about her was so… extraordinary.

She was beautiful.

He took a deep breath and stepped up to the microphone. He struggled to lengthen the stand to an appropriate height and then gave up, just twisting the mike out and holding it in his hand. "Hi, everyone."

Jen's eyes shot straight to him, wide and shocked.

"So, uh, I'm Sam. I know this isn't exactly usual, but I talked to the owners and they agreed to let me have a few minutes of your attention." _After I greased their palms a little,_ he neglected to add. Sam's heart was pounding in his throat and his palms were sweating and shit, was this what it was like for Jen every time she got on stage? She always seemed so much cooler than this... "So I apologize in advance, because. Well. I'm not much of a singer, but Jen, I think I owe you one. So, uh, hit it."

And right on cue, the track started to play over the sound system, lilting guitar over a mellow bass line. Sam cleared his throat and thanked God that Dean wasn't here because there was no way he would ever live this down. _Welp. Here goes nothing._

"_He-e-ey, have you ever tried. Really reaching out for the other si-i-i-ide?_" he sang to Jen, pretty much in tune (it was pretty high, though, so it didn't exactly sound… _good_). _"I may be climbing on rainbows, but baby here goes."_

Jen's hand was pressed to her mouth, and her shoulders shook. She was trying not to laugh.

"_Dre-e-eams, they're for those who sleep; li-i-i-i-ife is for us to keep. And if you're wondering what this song is leading to-o-o…" _Sam looked straight at Jen, tried to make this count. "_I wanna make it with you-u-u. I really think that we could make it, girl_."

Jen got up from her seat and started walking towards the stage.

"_No-o-o, you don't know me well,_" Sam continued, "_and every little thing only time will te-e-ell. If you believe the things that I do… and we'll see it through_."

Jen climbed up onto the stage and started towards Sam.

Sam didn't stop singing for one second, because once he stopped he wasn't going to be able to summon the courage to start again. So he just clutched the mike harder in his sweaty hand and sang to her, "_Li-i-ife can be short or long; lo-o-o-o-ove can be right or wrong. And if I chose the one I'd liiike to help me thro-o-ough…_"

She was only a foot or so away from him, eyes sparkling, her face split into a huge smile.

Sam grinned, and tried to keep the embarrassed laughter out of his voice. _"I'd like to make it with you-u-u," _he sang softly. _"I really think that we could make it, girl._" Then he lowered the mike and asked her, "Are you getting the picture here? Or do I have to sing another chorus?"

Jen took the mike out of his hand and put it in the mike stand. Then she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him so hard that he could barely breathe, throwing both her heels up in the air and it was a good thing that he was kissing her just as hard back and holding on to her for dear life or she might have fallen.

A chorus of applause and cheers broke out from the audience.

Sam chuckled into Jen's mouth, and then he pulled back for a second to tell her, "I think they're just cheering because you finally shut me up."

She laughed. "Well, you get an A for effort." Then she released her arms from around his neck and patted his chest, smiling and telling him, "If we were keeping score, you'd definitely get some points right now." She grabbed him by the hand and leaned into the mike to say, "That's all, folks! I'm sorry, but Sam here won't be entertaining you this evening. I'm afraid I have other plans for this one tonight." She winked and waved cutely at the audience, and lead a bright red Sam offstage to catcalls and hearty laughter.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Other plans?"

"I was thinking… dinner at my place?" Jen suggested. "I make a mean tortellini alfredo. Don't tell anyone, but…" She glanced about furtively, and then loudly stage-whispered, "The secret ingredient is_ frozen tortellinis_."

Sam nodded seriously. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Good." She tugged him towards the exit, shooting a sly look back at him and saying, "I always knew I could trust you, Sam Winchester. It's almost like I'm psychic or something…"

…

After getting kicked out of two libraries and nearly giving an elderly librarian a heart attack, Dean and Cas successfully conquered the elusive Library Fuck and went out to dinner to celebrate. This whole week had been quite a satisfying week for Dean, Cas-wise. He was still mentally kicking himself for not working through his own idiocy sooner, because he could have been having sex with Cas _this whole time_ and instead he'd been wasting it trying to teach Cas how to have sex with other people. What a moron.

It had not been the best week for Sam. Dean recognized that, and he felt kinda bad about it, but hey. Sam was a grown man. He could figure out how to amuse himself for a week. And once things were back on track with Jen, hopefully he'd be too busy getting laid to feel like a third wheel. Wasn't that why Dean had set him up in the first place?

Meanwhile, Dean and Cas were having the classiest of dinners ala Olive Garden. There was even wine on the table – _wine_. Dean twirled his spaghetti around his fork and snorted. "Dude. I still can't believe you _sneezed_ on me."

"It was dusty," Cas defended, working on his own chicken parmigiana. "I couldn't help it. Besides, I believe you were the one who instigated the whole affair."

"Yup," Dean admitted. "But you were the one who took it to the next level." He took a bite of spaghetti and an idea occurred to him. "Oh God, Cas, we should make a Bucket List! Only it should just be a list of places that we need to have sex. We already got 'library' checked off."

"Why does the location matter?" Cas asked with a confused frown.

"It doesn't, it just makes things exciting. Spices things up a little," Dean explained.

Cas didn't reply, but simply cut his chicken into even smaller pieces.

"Cas." Dean put down his silverware. "Hey. I'm just spitballing ideas here. I'm not saying it's something we have to do. I just had fun today, you know? Didn't you have fun?"

"Yes," Cas answered quietly. "I just hope that you…" Suddenly his eyes flashed, and he dropped his silverware with a clatter and blurted out sharply, "Damn it, it's only been a _week_, Dean, I can't possibly be boring you already!"

Dean was so shocked that he just laughed, amazed. "Cas! What the hell, dude? You're not boring me. You're – you're the least boring thing to happen to me, ever, and I'm _including_ the apocalypse in that statement. What the hell would make you think you're _boring _me?"

Cas's cheeks were turning pink, and he stared down at his chicken. "You're already talking about… making things exciting, spicing things up. I'm not very… experienced, and you… are probably accustomed to… someone who has more of a… repertoire…"

Dean reached across the table and grabbed Cas's wrist. "Cas. Look at me."

Cas raised his eyes to Dean's slowly, a slight wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"I don't care about that shit." Dean surprised himself with the vehemence in his voice, his _need_ to make Cas understand this. His hand around Cas's wrist clenched tighter, and he could feel Cas's pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. "I don't want somebody 'experienced.' I don't want – anybody else."

And it was true. Dean hadn't wanted anybody else for a long time; coming back empty-handed from the bars all those nights, Dean hadn't cared once that there wasn't some chick on his arm, because he was with _Cas_.

"I want – _you_," Dean uttered roughly. "I love _you_."

Wow, he… hadn't planned on saying that. But now that he had, he knew it was true too.

Cas wasn't a big talker, but his big blue eyes said things on their own sometimes. Right now, they were saying _I love you too_.

"Now." Dean released Cas's wrist and patted his hand. "How's that chicken parma-whatsit? Does it taste expensive?"

By the time Dean and Cas got back to the motel, they were in high spirits, and they decided to indulge in some _liquid _spirits, wink wink nudge nudge. After spending the day stifling moans in various libraries, Dean was ready to let loose and get loud and make Cas cry out in Enochian. The bottle of Jack had somehow ended up in Sam's room, but luckily Dean had a key.

So Dean moseyed on over to Sam's room, slid the key in the lock, oh weird there was a tie on the door (Sam had all of _one_ tie, shouldn't be leaving it around), turned the key –

And then he _heard_.

Oh, they were definitely having sex in there.

And Dean had been seconds away from opening the door and walking right in. Which, okay, it wouldn't be the first time, but it'd be the first time in a long time that _Dean_ had been in any danger of walking in on _Sam_. Dean carefully withdrew the key from the lock, grinned like a maniac, and, because no one was looking, he even punched the air in silent congratulations for Sammy. _About fuckin' time, Sammy. About fuckin' time_.

…..

"So let me get this straight," Dean demanded. "You were at her apartment, and you _brought her back to the motel _to bang her?"

Sam flushed and grinned sheepishly. "We tried, but there were these… little monkeys on her bedspread… and we just couldn't, you know, right on those little monkeys…"

They'd gotten laughing so hard they nearly fell off the bed, Sam exclaiming, "They're _judging me!_ I can see it in their eyes!" and Jen was nearly doubled over, crying out "Take your shirt off! The – ahahaha – the monkeys want you to take your shirt off!"

So they'd come to the motel.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Freak."

Cas had no comment. He was too busy working on his pancakes (which he technically shouldn't be able to get on the lunch menu, but Dean had convinced the young waitress that Cas was an important artist, and he_ needed _pancakes in order to _cr__aft_ his _masterpieces_.) It seemed the guy had a taste for chocolate, and he'd poured Hershey's syrup all over them. He was eating them like it was his last meal – bite by bite, relishing each mouthful, occasionally making obscene little noises. Which meant that Dean was occasionally sending him obscene little glances, and Sam knew there was no way that his hand was not on Cas's leg under the table.

Yeah, and _Sam _was the freak.

"Anyways, I was wondering if you guys found anything on long-distance exorcisms yesterday at the library…" Sam continued.

Dean and Cas exchanged a look. "Uh, sorry," Dean replied, the corners of his mouth twitching. "We didn't come across anything useful. But that reminds me – Cas and I were going to go down to the cemetery tonight and make sure there's nothing weird or spirit-like hangin' out there. So I'm taking the car."

"I could come with," Sam offered, "since –"

"NO!" Dean and Cas blurted in unison.

There was a beat of awkward silence at the table as Sam stared at them. "Okaaaaaay," he finally said warily, "I… won't come with."

"It's just." Dean cleared his throat. "We've got a handle on this one, Sam. You go hang out with Jen."

Sam did _not _want to know what they had planned for the cemetery, he really didn't. What's more, he _did_ want to hang out with Jen. Suddenly he didn't mind being a third wheel; he had a cute fourth wheel to occupy his time. So he smirked and said, "Just be safe, guys."

Dean kicked him under the table. Sam kicked him right back.

"I doubt we'll come across anything dangerous," Cas responded, oblivious.

Sam grinned and ate his sandwich.

_Peachy keen happily ever after_.

* * *

A/N:_ Again, thank you so much, you guys. I've loved hearing your reviews, and I really appreciate all the helpful things you've said and the generous compliments you've given me. I look forward to writing for you again. Until next time, my darlings - take care, and if you happen to write a story in which Dean and Cas _do _make a bucket list of places they need to have sex, feel free to send me a link. ;)_ _ ¡Hasta luego!_


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: _Well, I lied. 67impala demanded that I write a little bit more, and I don't normally negotiate with terrorists but God help me, Dean and Cas were horny as hell and begging that I give them some more screen time. So, for your reading pleasure, the last (I SWEAR, for reals this time, the ABSOLUTE LAST) chapter of this story. An epilogue, if you will. Enjoy._

* * *

"Well, here we are." Dean killed the engine and turned off the headlights.

They sat silently for a moment, gazing out at the gleaming gray headstones.

"I don't think I understand the appeal," Cas admitted.

"What's not to understand?" Dean asked, throwing his arm around the back of the seat. "It's dark. We're in a graveyard. _Spoooooky._"

Cas's eyebrow furrowed. "And spooky is… arousing?"

"No, dude –" Dean wiped a hand over his face and sighed. "Here's how it usually goes. You bring a goth-type chick here, and you tell her some scary story. And she says _she's _not scared but then maybe she shivers, see? And you say, 'Hey, you ain't scared, are you?' and she goes, 'No, I was just cold,' and you say 'Well, then, lemme warm you up' and she scoots in nice and close, and then maybe there's a weird noise in the bushes and she jumps and grabs you a little tighter, and giggles nervously…"

Castiel stared at Dean like he was insane. "And you find that attractive."

"Well, not that part necessarily," Dean clarified, "though I admit it's kinda nice, it's just that usually one thing leads to another…" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Cas pursed his lips, and considered. Slowly he scooted over to Dean's side.

Dean curled his arm around Cas's back and smiled. "That's more like it."

"Would you like me to…" Cas's voice flattened. "Giggle."

"No." Now Dean was the one staring bug-eyed and disturbed. "By all that is holy, Cas, please do not ever giggle. Ever."

Cas sighed in relief. "I don't think I even can, Dean."

Dean chuckled and kissed the side of his head. "Then we're agreed." And since his lips were already conveniently in the vicinity, he started to kiss along Cas's cheek and jaw, mentally mapping the curve of his cheekbone and memorizing the texture of his stubble.

Cas gazed out at the black night beyond. "Dean."

Dean could hear the seriousness in his voice, and pulled back. "Yeah Cas?"

He spoke very quietly, gravely. "I had a dream last night."

Dean waited for him to elaborate.

Cas's blue eyes were fixed on some moonlit grave. "For the first time."

"What?" Dean couldn't believe it. "All this time you've been human, and you haven't dreamt?"

He nodded. "It's strange. I've been in so many dreams of others, but having my own dream… It was… not what I expected. It's so much more real when it's yours."

"So what happened in this dream?" Dean inquired, smiling and brushing his lips against Cas's ear. "Was I in it?"

"Not exactly." Cas gave him a sideways glance. "In my dream, I was sleeping in our bed, and I woke up. You remained asleep, dead to the world. I grew worried, but then – God appeared to me. He appeared… as Chuck."

Dean frowned. Okay, _that_ was weird. Some strange instinctual part of him told his heart to pump a little faster.

"He told me that he had seen all that I had done, that I had proven myself among angels, and… he offered to restore me. My grace. Everything."

A chill ran up Dean's spine.

"Dean." Cas turned his head slowly, and looked straight into Dean's eyes, his voice small. "I don't think I was dreaming."

Dean tried to speak. Nothing came out.

He tried again. "What did you tell him?" he croaked.

"I told him…" Cas's voice fell to a whisper, and his eyes dropped downward in shame. "I told him to shove it up his ass."

Dean stared.

Then he took Cas by the face and kissed him. Enthusiastically. He wasn't planning on stopping. Ever.

"Cas," he gasped between kisses, "I love you – mmm – so goddamn much –"

"Dean," Cas panted, his hands roaming through Dean's hair, "Love you – mmmah – Dean…"

And without even thinking about it Dean was wrenching off Cas's trenchcoat, licking along his collarbone, fumbling desperately at his belt buckle, not even caring that the steering wheel was making all this canoodling difficult as hell.

"Back," Cas groaned, "Back seat…"

"No," Dean grunted, pulling his shirt over his shoulders. "Here. Now."

Cas sighed exasperatedly and pushed him against the window, teasing the skin of Dean's throat with his teeth while his hands dragged down his abdomen and slid along the waistband of his jeans. "Impatient," Cas whispered breathlessly. "You're so impatient, Dean."

Dean moaned and grabbed Cas by the wrists, tried to bring his hands just a liiiittle farther south. "Wouldn't be so impatient," he growled, "if you'd just hurry up _fuck me_."

Cas chuckled and kissed him, rolling his hips in a way that made Dean pretty sure he was going to die. "If you insist."

…..

They laid snugly together, watching the fog slowly recede from the windows. Dean could feel Cas's heartbeat against his ribs, and he wished that it could be like this all the time – quiet, still, warm. Peaceful.

"Cas?"

Cas propped his chin on Dean's shoulder. "Yes?"

Dean's thumb made slow circles on Cas's back. "Why?"

Cas didn't need to ask what he was talking about. He seemed to consider for a minute before answering. "If I had been asked to return to heaven three weeks ago, I would have said yes," he admitted quietly. "It would have been a relief. But this last week… this one week of my existence." He softly, slowly kissed Dean's shoulder. "I have been happier in this one week on earth than in all the millennia I spent in heaven."

Dean closed his eyes, swallowed the lump in his throat. "Me too, Cas."

They both tightened their grips on each other, almost imperceptibly.

"Except for the millennia in heaven part," Dean elaborated. "But the same idea. In earth years."

Cas smiled. "I know."

"You're so fucking poetic," Dean mumbled. "And then I go and say the stupidest shit…"

Cas chuckled. "I know."

"Hey!" Dean protested. "You're not s'posed to _agree_ with me!"

Cas ducked his head and nuzzled it into Dean's neck, and Dean could just _hear_ the shit-eating grin on his face. "I know."


End file.
